Ruthless in Heels
by Beej88
Summary: This is the Fifth installment for What Dreams May come on Elite Squad B - Set post stars, our favorite couple, Usagi and Mamoru, are settling into a normal like after Galaxia's defeat. Suddenly, they are taken, along with the rest of the Senshi, by an unknown enemy that entrenches them in one strange nightmare after the next. Rated M for language and lemons.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Hey readers! This story is actually the fifth chapter for a collaboration called, What Dreams May Come, with my fellow Moonies, Ninjette Twitch, Revy679 and Aya faulkner on page Elite SquadB.

There are 4 chapters that come before this one. Every chapter is written by a different author. You guys should read them, as they are amazing!

If you don't want to read them, this is the premise for this story.

**Set post stars, there is a new enemy that has kidnapped Mamoru, Usagi, and the Senshi. They are all unconscious in a lab and have been thrust into shared nightmares. Mamoru is the only one that is aware that he is in a dream, and he has figured out that the only way to end each nightmare is by getting Usagi to admit that she loves him. Which is not easy for Mamoru, as each nightmarish world has been created with specific situations to tear our favorite couple apart.**

**These were the rules that we followed when writing each chapter dream/nightmare.**

**-There is always one other character that is awake with Mamoru.**

**-It is always from Mamoru's point of view**

**-Usagi must admit that she loves Mamoru to end the nightmare, but they are not able to tell her she is in a nightmare because if they do, the nightmare restarts from the beginning.**

**If you guys are confused, please head over to Elite SquadB to read the first two chapters, as I promise, they are so worth the read! Or feel free to review with your questions.**

This one is written by me, though, truthfully, this is a joint effort with the lovely Ninjette Twitch that hammered out the outline with me and has been there throughout every step of this writing process! SO. This is from both of us.

Okay. So. Just a warning. This chapter -and I say this lightly as it turned into more of a little novella- is extremely angsty. VERY angsty. So, I mean. If you want the fluff, there may be bits. But. Well. Not too much really?

Because this ended up being so long, we have painstakingly split this into four parts that will be posted once a week throughout July. Probably on Saturday. So, keep your eyes peeled!

I hope you like this? R&R if you do!

**What Dreams May Come**

**Ruthless in Heels**

**Part 1**

This time he fought the inevitable summons of consciousness. With eyes still clenched firmly shut, he tried to forcibly keep himself asleep, even as he became aware that he was laying on something not-so-comfortable, and that there was a twinging ache at the nape of his neck. Probably from the awkward position his body was wrenched into.

He knew already, with a painful ball of dread coiled in the pit of his stomach like a piece of lead, that he wasn't free. That he'd managed to accomplish absolutely _nothing _by ending that last nightmare. And dammit, he was still reeling from that last one; a vision of Usagi, scantily dressed, her eyes shining darkly. Kunzite dead on the floor. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do this, and the thought of opening his eyes to another fucked up dream world was unbearable.

Still, just like every other time, he didn't have a choice. Which was made painfully clear by a sharp jab in his ribs that startled him. His eyes instinctively flew open as he hissed a pained breath through gritted teeth.

It took a moment, like always, for his blurred vision to focus and adjust onto his surroundings. He did not expect to be peering up into the angled, angry features of Nephrite, whose green eyes were flashing in annoyance as he leaned over him.

"Seriously?" The long-haired general snapped. "You know that they're going to be here in less than ten minutes, and you're fucking _sleeping_?"

Mamoru inwardly groaned at Nephrite's panic-ridden, rage-filled exclamation, and he settled with glaring back up at him as he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, carefully stretching the kink in his neck and arms as he went. He was so tired of trying to figure out what was going on all the time. Though, as usual, he felt that pull. The anxiety induced _need _to find Usagi and save her from… well… wherever the hell they were this time.

Nephrite stepped back, arms crossed with irritation, broad shoulders squared angrily as he waited. Presumably for him to say something.

Mamoru was at a loss for words, like he usually was, as his gaze slid quickly over his surroundings for some kind of clue or indication into what he'd been thrown into this time. So far, it appeared to be a regular, albeit very run down, storage room of sorts. Boxes and broken crates pressed up along dirty stone-edged walls. Nephrite himself was dressed casually, blue jeans, black hoodie, hair pulled back into an unkempt bun at the nape of his neck.

Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was not in the mood for another Wonderland right now, and this appeared … normal. Shady, maybe. But at least he hadn't woken up to talking flowers or something equally as fantastical.

Nephrite exhaled loudly, angrily, "No, no. That's fine, Chiba," he growled, jaw clenched in annoyance. "Just take your time. Not like our lives depend on it or anything."

The cutting edge laced into his words didn't escape Mamoru's attention, and he mentally prepared himself for the worst. At this point, he liked to think that he was pretty good at pretending as if he knew exactly who he was supposed to be. So, with an ease he never would have managed before the nightmares began, he shrugged with a contrived nonchalance as he pulled himself to his feet.

He noted that he was dressed in an equally casual manner as Nephrite before he forcibly kept his expression neutral and faced the sour-faced General. Was he the type to apologize in this world? Well, he was about to find out...

"Sorry, guess I wasn't feeling that great," he murmured, and Neph's eyes widened in confusion, caught off guard.

_Nope. _Apparently, he was _not _the type to apologize. Well, fuck.

Nephrite shook his head slowly, suspicion flashing in his eyes mingled with irritated disgust. "We don't have time for this," he sneered, apparently willing to let his seemingly out of character behavior slide. "Are you coming? She's going to be here this time… and, trust me, Chiba. You don't want to fuck up around her."

Mamoru perked up at the mention of a '_she,_' though he knew better than to actually be hopeful that it was Usagi at this point. Hell, it was probably Beryl. Or maybe Galaxia dressed up in a belly-dancing outfit. The horrifying possibilities were endless.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. "Of course I know how… dangerous she can be," he replied, hoping that he'd infused enough confidence into his voice to fool Nephrite.

Again, apparently, he hadn't succeeded because Nephrites eyes narrowed. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded, and Mamoru couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips.

Ah, hell. What did it matter anyway? "Nothing is wrong with me," he spat back, this time his frustration of the unknown seeping into his tone. "Are we going to go, or not?"

He had no idea where they were supposed to be going, or what the hell they were doing, but his comment seemed to snap Nephrite out of his suspicious daze. The russet-haired General nodded curtly before twisting on his heels and disappearing beyond a darkened doorway without a glance back.

Obviously, he was meant to follow him, and Mamoru inhaled deeply, jaw clenched, a steely glint in his eyes as he stared at the unfamiliar outlines in the dark, dusty hallway where Nephrite had disappeared.

He didn't want to do this anymore. He was tired, mentally drained, and more than anything, he wished this whole thing would just be over. Visions of Usagi, bright-eyed, and laughing flashed through his memories, and he knew that it didn't matter _how _hard this was. He'd promised her that he would _never _give up.

He let the frustration take over for only a moment more, the self-pity coursing violently through his veins before he forcibly let it go; steeled himself for the impossible, and stepped through the door.

He'd walk through Hell a hundred times over to save her. He just wished he knew what heart-wrenching, fiery circle he was getting himself into now.

oOo

The first thing that became apparent to him as he walked into the brightly lit open space of a warehouse was that _whoever _he was in this world was clearly into some shady dealings. He'd seen the movies, the nauseatingly cliched settings, and this place held all of that and more.

Flickering fluorescent lights in a dirty, questionable warehouse, _probably in the middle of nowhere, _with crate stacked onto crate filled with —if Nephrite's shifty behavior was any indication— something not-so-legal.

Mamoru halted, exhaling deeply with misery-filled resignation, as he watched his former general move towards the crates that must have just been brought in. His cobalt blue gaze flicked shrewdly towards the trail in the dirt and grime on the cement warehouse floor. It led from a rolling steel service door that was still partially pulled open. It was also devoid of the thin layer of dust that seemed to coat everything else in this room. That, topped with the nervous way in which Nephrite kept shifting, his gaze flipping frantically from the crates to the wide, double steel doors at the other side of the warehouse, was enough information for Mamoru to conclude that he was probably a grunt worker in some kind of criminal exchange.

His jaw clenched, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. _Great_. This promised to be an anxiety-ridden, horrible corner of hell, and he was rethinking his thoughts on talking flowers and their benefits when the doors that Nephrite has been anxiously surveying swung open with a grinding, ominously loud screech as it slowly scraped across the floor.

Neph visibly tensed, and Mamoru twisted around, more curious than afraid at this point, as he fixed his gaze onto the door.

Kunzite, sleekly dressed in a black pinstripe suit that looked expensive, his silver hair slicked back and clipped into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, was the first to walk through the door. Mamoru barely had time to feel relief that he hadn't _actually _died in the last nightmare when he was followed closely by Makoto.

His brows drew together into a frown, his heart started to race, as he carefully studied her expression. Kunzite's expression was hard, chiseled, sloping features twisted into something dark and dangerous. Makoto though, her face was pale, devoid of any color, her eyes wide and filled with terror.

Her gaze shifted around the warehouse in quick, confused movements, that led him to believe that she had no idea where she was. His breath hitched in his throat. _Was she awake?_ When her gaze fell onto Nephrite, and her eyes widened in startled shock as she opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, before she wordlessly snapped it shut, he was inclined to believe that she was awake. _He'd been wrong before, though, s_o he didn't say a word as the pair approached them.

Kunzite halted, and his eyes swept over him, then Nephrite, before his lip curled up into a sneer of disgust. "Is it just the both of you?" He demanded sharply; his posture coiled so tightly Mamoru thought for sure he might snap.

Neph took a fumbled step forward, and it was evident by the flushed look of fear on his face, that he was terrified of Kunzite. He probably would have been too, if he'd bothered to keep his eyes locked onto the silver-haired… assassin, maybe? Gangster? Instead, he was watching Makoto, who could not pull her eyes away from Nephrite. She was practically trembling with confusion and that, more than anything, was what cemented his deduced conclusion that Makoto was the one awake.

She was wearing the same expression on Ami's face when she'd been forced to question a dark, tweedle version of Zoisite. On Rei's face when she'd found herself married to Jadeite as a lawyer, and finally, the pained, sorrow-filled look on Minako's face when she'd asked permission to pursue the hardened general that was glaring at them now.

He wanted her to look back over at him so that he could try and convey something in his expression, but she was clearly too overwhelmed to take her eyes off of Nephrite. Which, he understood. He'd been through this more times than he liked to admit, but this was her first time, and seeing your dead lover brought back to life in a twisted, fucked up world where nobody was who they should be, was a hard pill to swallow.

Nephrite interrupted his misery-filled inner-musings with a sharp jab to his ribs. "Yes, sir. It's just us," he replied, his tone submissive and filled with a nervous addled twinge that made Mamoru frown.

He was clearly terrified. What the hell was the deal, exactly? Would Usagi be a prisoner? Did she even have anything to do with any of this?

Kunzite's sneer deepened, and he scoffed in disdain, automatically dismissing Nephrite in disgust before his icy-blue eyes slid slowly onto him. It was probably a bad idea, but he was past the point of caring, and he met the general's gaze with a steady, unflinching stare of his own.

The slightest of creases puckered onto the silver-haired general's forehead, and there was a momentary hint of curiosity. "I've never seen you before," he stated, his tone matter of fact, angry.

Nephrite cleared his throat, "I can vouch for him, sir. He's been working with us for a couple of months now. He—"

Kunzite furiously interrupted him. "Was I speaking to you?" He snarled, and Nephrite tensed, visibly swallowing as he sheepishly shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry. Of course not."

This was not the Nephrite that had woken him up in the back room, and Mamoru felt his first twinge of fear curled up in his chest. Kunzite, and whatever the hell they were doing here, was dangerous.

Mamoru forcibly kept a neutral expression as he took a step forward. "I'm a worker, just like Nephrite," he began, his tone surprisingly steady as he prepared to take a risk on a calculated guess. "I do what I'm told, and I keep my mouth shut."

This seemed to mollify Kunzite, whose rage-filled eyes cooled considerably. He was pretty sure he'd pulled that line from one of the mind-numbingly inaccurate action movies he'd sat down to watch with Usagi before the nightmares. Lucky for him, he'd fought meaner monsters than big bad Kunzite and his anger issues.

Kunzite nodded and twisted towards Makoto. "It's clear, go and get her," he demanded. Mamoru frowned, and it was clear that Makoto hadn't heard him at first. His heart involuntarily quickened nervously for her. _Come on, Mako. Get it together. _Kunzite's face flickered with rage and impatience. "Makoto!" he bellowed, and Mamoru's heart went out to the brunette who sucked in a loud breath of startled air and jumped at the sound of the general's command.

It was painful to see the Amazonian, Senshi warrior princess of Jupiter falter. "Sorry! Yes!" She blurted, and he inwardly winced at Kunzite's brutally savage glare.

"What the fuck is wrong with you today, Kino?" He snapped, "Get it together!"

His eyes followed Makoto who swiveled around, her footing unsteady, as the ordinarily graceful Senshi scrambled back towards the door. There wasn't any point in saying anything out loud, yet. He'd have to find a way to get her alone so that he could tell her what was going on. Then, just like all the nightmares that had preceded this one, they'd find Usagi together.

"Where's the shipment?" Kunzite demanded, and the harshly quipped question was directed at him.

Nephrites expression darkened in jealousy and Mamoru resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently, his generic statement of loyalty had made an impact. _Great_, he could play a believable thug. He could add that to the ever-growing list of irrelevant skills on his resume when this was all over.

Too bad he didn't know where the shipment was… or _what _it was for that matter, and he was infinitely grateful that Nephrite wasn't taking his momentary flare of jealousy to extremes, when his former long-haired friend came to the rescue.

"It's in the crates," he grunted, gesturing towards the wooden planked boxes that Mamoru had noticed earlier.

For a second, he thought Kunzite was going to snap again, but, luckily, he seemed more concerned with said crates as he didn't even acknowledge Nephrite and swept past him toward the shipment.

Nephrites eyes narrowed in a 'are you trying to fucking _kill _us?' expression and Mamoru shrugged in response. He was walking a strange blurred line in this nightmare. Torn between emotional exhaustion that was daring him to throw caution to the wind, and that familiar fear-driven need and urgency to save Usagi from yet another expertly crafted world of things meant to torture her.

He was contemplating his next step when the doors opened once again, the loud scraping noise instinctively, pulling his gaze towards it.

He froze, his heart skipping a painful beat, at the vision that walked through that door.

God. It was Usagi. But, once again, the bodiless monsters had managed to plunge their grimy hands into his chest to squeeze the breath from his lungs. It _was _Usagi, but it wasn't. Usagi, his sweet, gentle princess, generally dressed in bright colors, her eyes shining brightly, with odangoed tresses rippling over her shoulder, was not who walked through that door.

He shouldn't have been surprised by anything at this point. Hell, _darkness _had taken on a whole new meaning in their last nightmare, but this was different somehow. There was a panther-like grace to her movements. She was confident, graceful, as she moved towards them, Makoto trailing nervously behind her.

She wore a black pinstripe dress that mirrored Kunzites suit, and it molded perfectly to slender curves. The silk-like material, stretched taut across her hips and chest with every step she took, as it cinched seductively at her waist and cut off just above her knees, exposing bared, endlessly long legs in black stilettos. _His _Usako would have tripped in shoes like that. This Usako, though, didn't miss a beat.

He wasn't sure what it was, particularly, that bothered him about this Usagi. At first, he thought it was the outfit, dark and seductive, but she'd been wearing less in the other nightmares. And it couldn't be the absence of her signature odango hairstyle, where she now had her hair pulled back into a simple yet elegant ponytail at the crown of her head, glimmering glossy waves rolling down her back. She'd sported several different hairstyles throughout their time together in hell.

It took a moment, but when it hit him, it felt like he couldn't breathe. It was the _look _in her eyes. In every other nightmare, he'd still been able to glimpse a piece of _her _shining from behind the sapphire blue pools in her eyes. This time, there was nothing but a callous, cold-filled contempt that filled him with dread.

He couldn't breathe as the implications for what that meant painfully pressed into his heart. _God, _what if the rules had changed? What if they'd entrenched them in so many plots, and twisted, pain-filled memories of too many different lives into her head that she'd finally succumbed? What if… what if he couldn't save her?

That horrifying thought twisted his heart so painfully in his chest that his hands shook as his fingers curled into fists and pressed into his sides. _No. _He _refused_ to believe it. Just like that, the blurred line that separated his hope and his exhausted self-pity disappeared and renewed his vigorous determination to get them the fuck out of here.

Usagi didn't even spare him a glance as she swept past him and moved to stand beside Kunzite that had seemingly located a crowbar from amidst the rubble and trash in the warehouse.

His throat constricted when Usagi, _his Usako, _gently laid a hand on Kunzites arm as she casually graced him with a satisfied smile. "Hold on, brother," she practically purred. Her tone sickeningly sweet, her inflection laced with an un-Usagi like maliciousness that made his stomach churn violently. "What is the point of hiring people that have," —she flicked a contemptuous sneer at Mamoru over her shoulder— "_Unfortunate _upbringings, willing to do anything we pay them to do if we have to open our own crates?"

The way she spoke, her voice dripping with unfettered disdain, was ripping him into shreds. This wasn't her. She'd _never _casually dismissed anyone with prejudice and indignation in her entire life.

It was difficult, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep the horrified expression off of his face. Makoto, he noted, was not as successful as he was, and he hoped to God the others didn't notice the way her fingers were pressed to her lips parted in shock, and her features were contorted into disbelieving disgust.

Kunzite chuckled warmly, an amused grin curling onto his face in a cold snake-like manner. "As always, sweet sister, you're absolutely right," he agreed, the hardened icy blues of his eyes warming as he peered down at Usagi.

He expected it when Kunzite twisted around to face him, his expression menacing as he thrust the steeled crowbar out to him. "Open it," he demanded icily.

He didn't have to wonder what the idiot in the action movie was thinking by blindingly following orders anymore as he leaned over and reluctantly took the tool from Kunzite's outstretched hand.

He swallowed nervously, trying to ignore the almost predatory look in Usagi's eyes as she watched him step forward. This nightmare was painful in an entirely different way, and he didn't know how to proceed from here as he lifted the steeled tool and pried it in between the lid and the box.

It briefly occurred to him that whatever was in this box was more than likely not going to be good, but, when the lid popped off with a piercing crack as it splintered the wood, he wasn't entirely successful at hiding the expression of horrified dismay that crossed his face by what was inside.

Usagi giggled harshly, the trill sound a mocking, sickeningly sweet sound that was an insult to the sweet girl that was his Usako. "What's wrong, handsome?" She drawled, and his lips pressed together into a grim line as he steadily met her gaze. "Haven't you ever seen a gun before?"

No. He hadn't. Because Japan was one of the countries in the world with the strictest gun laws. The punishment for a civilian to possess a gun, fiercely harsh. Which was why a crate filled with _hundreds _of them was bad. Really bad.

When he didn't respond to Usagi's taunt, the corners of her beautiful lips curled up into a slow, mocking smile. It broke his heart. She leaned over, slender fingers wrapping around the handle as she pulled it from the box. Her eyes shone with an excitement that made him want to rip the fucking thing from her hands.

Every single one of her movements were slow, calculatingly seductive as she ran a slender, perfectly manicured index finger along the edge of the barrel. "Isn't it beautiful?" She whispered breathlessly, taking a step towards him, closing the gap between them. He was frozen, his heart thudding in his chest and his eyes locked onto hers as her smile widened. "There's something powerful about a _gun," _she practically whispered, her warm breath fanning across his face. "All I have to do..." she twisted the barrel of the weapon towards him and pressed it against his chest. "Is pull the trigger and _poof! _You're dead."

He was pretty sure he was going to be sick. Because he didn't know who this girl was. His Usako wouldn't relish in death and pain, and he never in a million years could have ever imagined her behaving like _this. _Was the ultimate goal of the monsters who kept doing this to them to destroy any remnants of the Usagi he knew and loved? Was it too late? Had they succeeded?

He sucked in a pained breath, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes at the horrifying thoughts when the sweet smell of lavender and vanilla assaulted his senses. It grounded him, snapped him out of it. Because she was still in there. _She just had to be._

He did the only thing that he could think of. It was as if time slowed, gun pressed to his chest, a mocking sneer curled onto her lips, as he lifted his hand, his expression tender, as he tucked a curled tendril of hair behind her ear. He'd caught her off guard, and the seductively calculated look that seemed to be a permanent fixture on this Usagi disappeared for a moment as her eyes widened slightly and she inhaled sharply.

It was there. He'd _seen _it flash in her eyes; a vulnerability that gave him hope. It passed quickly though, and Kunzite ripped him backward, and Usagi's expression hardened with fury.

Kunzite's eyes were filled with unfettered rage as he wrapped a fist into the fabric of his shirt. "What the fuck do you…"

One second, he was stoically facing off with the steely-eyed general, and the next it was like all hell had broken loose. The warehouse doors that they had entered through burst open once again. This time, two men swept through the door, guns raised, uniformed officers. _Fuck_.

There were shouts to lift their hands in the air, crisp demands to surrender. He stepped back, in a daze, heard Makoto's cry of dismay, and Nephrite's harshly whispered curse. His eyes were locked onto Usagi's face, though, and he didn't react in time to prevent what happened next.

"They've seen my face, Kunz," she spat furiously, her tone filled with a rage he'd never heard spill from her lips before.

He wasn't sure what she meant. There were no other options. They needed to give in, and then maybe he could find a way to get through to her when they brought them in.

He expected them both to surrender, but that was not what happened. Kunzite nodded, and a small, determined smile split onto Usagi's face. Her grip tightened on the gun that she'd had pointed at him only moments before, and with startlingly cold precision, she lifted the weapon, expertly flicked the safety off, and fired.

Makoto screamed as the bullet soared through the air, piercing the tawny-haired officer in the neck. The man crumpled to the floor just as the second officer radioed for backup before he fired his weapon, too. It narrowly missed Kunzite, and he could only watch in horror as the general pulled Usagi into his arms, shielding her before he yanked the weapon from her hand and shot a second time. His aim rang true and the second officer let out a gurgling gasp as his body curled forward and he fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

He couldn't breathe, his vision blurring in disbelief, because there was _no way_ that his Moon princess, his bright and beautiful warrior of _justice _and _love_, had purposely shot and killed a police officer without a second thought.

He didn't have time to dwell on anything though, because there was a swarm of people that began to pour in through the doorway, all cops, all angrily shouting with guns raised. In the moment that he'd spent staring helplessly ahead, momentarily frozen in disbelief, Usagi and Kunzite had slipped away.

Nephrite, apparently, had decided that he wasn't going down without a fight, and he realized, with horrified disbelief, that he was standing in the crossfire of a real, honest to god, police shootout.

With a harshly bellowed expletive, he dove behind the crate of guns, barely missing getting _shot _himself. Makoto had done the same thing, and he almost collided into her kneeling, trembling form. He didn't know _how _long one person could hold off a group of armed, trained officers, and he knew he only had mere seconds to react.

Makoto's eyes met his, and they were filled with confused-terror, laced with trepidation. Which, he could understand. She had no clue if he was himself, where she was, and what was going on.

He inhaled deeply, the muscles in his body coiled tightly in anticipation. He was infinitely grateful for the flexibility that had been granted to him with the powers of Tuxedo Kamen at that moment. And, in a breathtaking, terrifying split-second decision, he firmly grasped Makoto's wrist and vaulted to his feet, pulling her lithe form up with him.

"Wait, Mamoru—" she whispered hoarsely, but there wasn't time to think, much less stop and explain, and he forcibly tugged her forward, ignoring her yelp of pain.

His heart hammered brutally fast within the cavity of his chest, blood racing with adrenaline when they reached his intended destination. He twisted around, wrapped his arms around the brunette and threw them both onto the floor. His elbow and the side of his head cracked painfully onto the pavement, and his vision blurred, white lights exploding behind his eyelids. His ears rang as he tightened his arms around Makoto's waist and promptly twisted onto his back, clumsily rolling them beneath the small opening underneath the steel rolling service door.

The impulsive movement knocked the breath out of his lungs, and he stumbled dizzily as he untangled himself from Makoto and fumbled to his feet. It was dark outside, and they were clearly in the back alley of some kind of sketchy looking loading dock. There wasn't time to admire the scenery, though, and he leaned forward and grasped Makoto's wrist again.

He was sure that he was bruising her, and this time, she yanked her arm away from him. "No! Let go of me!" she hissed, her eyes darting wildly around them, her hair askew. "What is going on right now? I can't even—"

He knew that she was terrified, confused, probably feeling a vast array of painful emotions. But the sound of shooting guns had abruptly stopped, and there wasn't time for this.

"Mako, there isn't time for you to freeze up," he snapped. "Get it together, Jupiter. We have to go."

His fervently whispered demand caught her off guard. Her eyes widened, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. Makoto was a fighter; loyal, fiercely protective and possessed the ability to make snap decisions to protect the ones she loved. He'd seen it in battle, and this time was no exception.

She nodded curtly, her eyes hardening with determination as the terror melted away from her expression. "Let's go."

He didn't think about it. They both turned, swiveling on their heels, and ran. The only sounds he could make out was the methodical thudding as the soles of their shoes hit the pavement, Makoto's ragged breathing, and the wind whistling in his ears. He concentrated on making it out of there with a single-minded focus that took every thought from his mind. Which was good, because if he didn't, all he would be able to remember was the sight of Usagi, a malicious smile on her lips, as she callously fired a gun.

oOo

When they finally stopped, lungs burning, muscles aching and screaming in protest, it was underneath the flickering light of a streetlamp on a busy street that was still bustling with activity. Even at this late hour.

Makoto didn't say a word as they wordlessly stood side by side, their breathing ragged as they caught their breath. When it felt like he could finally breathe without feeling like his throat was on fire, he straightened, ignoring the aching thud emanating from where he'd hit his head, and raked his fingers through his hair.

Had they run far enough? What the hell had even _happened _back there? He was trying to process the adrenaline-filled moments that had preceded this one when Makoto firmly grasped his arm.

He winced as his gaze slid onto her. She was a mess; strands of chestnut-brown hair pulled from her ponytail, askew and sideways on the crown of her head. Blood was dripping from a nasty looking gash above her left eye. _Had that happened before or after he'd thrown her onto the ground? _While her physical appearance had definitely seen better days, that was currently not the most painful thing about her. It was the hardened anguish etched onto the contours of her face, and shining from the depths of confusion-filled eyes.

"Please tell me that I'm not crazy," she pleaded hoarsely, tugging painfully at his heartstrings. "Tell me that Jupiter is not just some crazy nickname that you use and that you aren't really some sketchy thug in a warehouse…" she trailed off, visibly swallowing before continuing. "Because, I'm going to be really honest here, Mamoru. I think I might be losing my mind."

Her eyes welled with tears, and her lower lip quivered, even as her expression still reflected the frustration he knew she was feeling.

He shook his head and gently grasped her wrist. "No, you aren't crazy, Makoto," he reassured, squeezing her hand in an attempt to comfort her. "Trust me, I know this is a lot..." he murmured, and Makoto let out a bark of disbelieving laughter, promptly interrupting him.

She violently pulled away, her face contorted into a look of agony-filled, rage. "_A lot?_" she hissed. "Mamoru! This is…" she shook her head, her mouth parted mid-sentence, as she seemingly searched for the right words. "Who the hell _was _that back there?" She settled on demanding. "Because that sure as hell was _not _Usagi Tsukino!" She practically bellowed, her eyes burning wildly with bubbling hysteria.

Mamoru sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily as he clenched his eyes shut. "I know that was hard to see…" he took a deep, cleansing breath. Hell, _he_ could barely handle it, and he was not a novice to this type of hell_. _He opened his eyes, steadily fixing onto Makoto's watchful gaze. "I promise you, that was Usagi."

Makoto shook her head slowly, the light above them flickering, bathing half of her face in shadows. "_No,"_ she denied vehemently. "That Usagi…Mamoru. I woke up in a mansion, to friends who were no longer my friends, and Usagi…" her eyes welled with tears again, and she choked on her words. "She's a terrifying _nightmare."_

Makoto had unknowingly nailed it, and Mamoru nodded. "Yes, Makoto," he agreed quietly. "This is a nightmare."

Her eyes widened, still filled with confusion. "What?" She spat. "What does that even mean?"

He opened his mouth to tell her, to explain everything, when he noted that there was a crowd gathering. Civilians slowing, their eyes shifting nervously from Mamoru to Makoto. _What the hell? _He couldn't help but notice that there were several people who, with one glance at Makoto, averted their gaze and rushed by fearfully.

Makoto's brow creased in confusion when Mamoru suddenly stopped talking, and she whipped around, her eyes darting over the people that were seemingly afraid of her.

She groaned and took a step back to stand beside him. "Mamoru," she whispered raspily. "I'm pretty sure they're afraid of me," she admitted quietly. "I didn't understand a lot about what was going on when I woke up this morning, but I have a feeling I'm a part of… something dangerous."

He grimaced and nodded in understanding. She'd been with Kunzite and Usagi, and they were… He couldn't bear to finish that thought.

He inhaled sharply before facing Makoto. "We need to go somewhere and talk." His tone was matter of fact. They were exposed, and he had no idea what horrors had been crafted for them here.

The Mamoru of this world clearly hadn't lived in the warehouse, and he buried his hands in his pockets in search of a clue. His fingers curled around what was clearly a phone, and something jagged. His brow creased in concentration as he pulled the phone and a single key hanging from a plastic, flat-edged keychain. The faded words Bay motel etched above the number 6.

He breathed a sigh of relief, because, surprisingly, he recognized it. They were in Koto city, and Bay motel resided across the street from a wharf along the edge of Tokyo Bay.

He met Makoto's gaze, his eyes wide and filled with purposeful determination. "Come on, I know where we are."

Makoto didn't protest when he twisted, his eyes scanning the surrounding street signs as he began to lead the way.

oOo

Makoto's face was pale, her lips pressed into a grim line, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned back against the cheap, broken plywood desk pressed against a yellowed wall. He squinted, the dim lighting barely sufficient, as they stood inside the seedy motel room that he was, apparently, currently residing in.

Of all of the Senshi that had managed to stay awake, Makoto was having the most difficult time processing what was happening. Rei had relied on wisdom to help manage. Ami had depended on calculated logic to keep her sane. And Minako… well, Minako was Minako.

Makoto, though, while she appeared tough on the outside, he knew she was sensitive at heart. And, her fierce loyalty to the sweet, bubbly girl, that was usually a beacon of hope to so many, made seeing a gangster Usagi _that _much more difficult. So, to see Makoto react this way after he'd calmly, with all of the patience he could muster, explained to her in great detail what was currently happening to them, wasn't unexpected.

In some ways, this was harder than what the other Senshi had witnessed. _This _wasn't the same as seeing Usagi dressed like a sweet, innocent rabbit. This was different; it was difficult for _him_ to see her this way, even after everything he'd been through with her. So, he understood Makoto's need for time.

She sighed, shifting her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other before straightening and raking a frustrated palm over her face. "So, you've done this several times?" She demanded hoarsely, her eyes finally focusing as she snapped out of her inner musings and fixed her gaze onto his face.

He nodded mutely in response and watched as, with a groan of dismay, she angrily pushed herself away from the desk to stand in the middle of the room with a look of unfettered frustration on her face.

He patiently leaned against the wall, his eyes following her for several minutes as she paced the small length of the room, stopped, shook her head, scoffed in disbelief many times before finally halting and twisting on her heels to face him.

She met his gaze, and for the first time since they'd arrived at the motel, her eyes were clear and filled with that stalwart Senshi determination.

She exhaled slowly, chewing on the back of her thumbnail, a frown creased onto her brow. "Was that really him, Mamoru?" Her tone was tentative, afraid almost.

His brows drew together, and he shook his head in confusion. "Who?" If his brain wasn't so addled, if he wasn't so rattled by having to do this _once_ _again, _he probably could have figured it out.

Makoto rolled her eyes, "Nephrite, Mamoru," she snapped, annoyed, her tone slightly hysterical. "Was that him?"

He cringed at the trill sound laced into her tone, pushed away from the wall that he'd been leaning against and raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm not sure, Makoto," he admitted honestly. "I think it's him, and the other Generals too. Don't ask me how it's possible. I don't know," his tone was a bit harsher than he intended.

Makoto wasn't fazed, and she closed her eyes, clenched her fists into her sides, and exhaled slowly before meeting his gaze again. "And you've seen me? In these other nightmares?"

He nodded slowly in response. "Yes. This is the first time you've been aware," he hadn't gone into depth about the other nightmares, unwilling to relive some of the moments himself. His lips twitched, hinting at a smile at one particular memory, though. "You were once the mad hatter, actually," he admitted with a rueful shrug and an involuntary chuckle.

In retrospect, maybe they _would_ be able to laugh about some of the memories… he shook his head with disgust. They needed to get out of here first, and their enemies needed to be thoroughly destroyed before he could get past the bitterness of what had been done to them before he could laugh about _anything_.

Makoto's nose wrinkled up with distaste. "Mad hatter? Like in Alice in Wonderland?"

The corners of his lips quirked up into a small smile at that. "You've read Alice in Wonderland?" He probed; brow raised curiously.

Makoto blinked and tilted her head to the side as she graced him with a look of disbelieving annoyance. "Of course, I've read it. Who the hell hasn't read Alice in Wonderland?" She demanded, propping fists onto her hips.

He bit back a groan at the irony in her statement and took a step towards her instead. "You'd be surprised," he murmured under his breath, thoughts of Ami as the caterpillar flashing through his head before he took a deep breath and continued. "The only way to get out of here is to remind Usagi of who she is—"

Makoto interrupted him. "By admitting she loves you?" She demanded again, but there was a glint of suspicion in her eyes.

Mamoru frowned and nodded. "Yes, that's been what's worked so far…" he trailed off because Makoto's expression made him pause.

With one hand still propped on her hip, while tapping her lips with the index finger of her other hand in quiet contemplation, her eyes glazed over and fixed onto a random spot on the wall as she became lost in thought.

"Makoto?" He asked hesitantly, one brow raised in question.

Makoto shook her head, "Well, don't you think that's weird, Mamoru?" She whispered suspiciously, clearly disconcerted; strands of chestnut-brown hair toppling over her shoulders with her movements.

His brow furrowed because he wasn't sure, exactly, what she meant. "Yeah," he responded sardonically, with a bark of derisive laughter. "I'd say _weird _is putting it mildly, Makoto," he replied drily, with a humorless laugh.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he might have heard the sound of Makoto grinding her teeth as she took a deep breath. "That's not what I meant," she snapped angrily. "I _mean_ that it's strange that Usagi's admission of love is the only thing that kills this whole," she gestured around her with angry vehemence, "Horrible, nightmarish world, or whatever!" She crossed her arms again, her shrewd gaze steadily meeting his. "Have you stopped to wonder why that is? Except for that one time, when you woke up in the lab, have you ever even seen the enemy?"

These things _had _occurred to him, and his first inclination was to be annoyed with Makoto for thinking that they hadn't. It disappeared like a defeated wisp of resignation, though, when he opened his mouth to retort hotly. With a step back and a sigh of crushing surrender, he sat down onto the edge of the bed, propped his elbows onto his knees and raked his hands over his face with barely restrained misery.

His eyes flashed angrily as they met Makoto's almost accusing glare. "Trust me, Makoto," he snapped. "I've thought of nothing _but _getting us out of here."

Guilt crept up from the pit of his churning stomach, though, because that wasn't entirely true. He grimaced and buried his head in his hands with a grunt of frustration, because truthfully this was utterly exhausting, and when he thought about wading through this world, with gangsters, guns and a cold, unreachable Usagi... Well, it didn't leave much room to think about the bigger picture.

Makoto sighed, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze. She'd come to terms with all of this, finally, and her face was etched with a resolute fortitude that made him exhale with relief. "Well, alright then," she began, her tone steady and unwavering, unlike when they'd first entered the room. "Give me your phone," she demanded, shoulders squared, stance set in a way that left no room for argument as she thrust out her hand.

He'd already forgotten about the cheap, scuffed, older Samsung device he'd discovered in his pocket earlier, and he fished it back out and promptly placed it in her palm.

Her brow furrowed as she took it, and it lit up her face as she swiped a finger across the screen. "What's your password?" She asked absentmindedly, her eyes firmly fixed onto the phones on-screen keypad.

He shrugged and bit back a sigh of irritation. "I have no idea. It could be anything… I doubt that it's what it would usually be," he murmured, a pang of pain reverberating in his chest.

Makoto met his eyes for a brief moment before they flicked back down onto the phone. "Which is?" She asked, her face screwed up in concentration. "I only have two attempts left. So, may as well try it."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "0630," he replied, barely above a whisper, tone laced with emotion that he was having a tough time trying to keep at bay.

Makoto froze, and she flicked her eyes onto his again. They shone painfully with the grief and desperation that mirrored precisely what he felt because June 30th was Usagi's birthday. Thankfully, Makoto didn't comment though, and her fingers pressed in the numbers. Her face fell with disappointment because, just like he'd known it would, it hadn't worked. He didn't know Usagi in this world. The Mamoru of this world was a gun smuggling grunt worker in a warehouse. Someone inconsequential who had never met her. In fact, he was probably an…

"Idiot," Makoto scoffed with a bark of disbelieving laughter.

Mamoru frowned. "What?"

She lifted her gaze from 'his' phone, a smug, Makoto-like half-smile curled onto her lips, and a perfectly manicured brow arched in triumph. "The Mamoru of this nightmare is an _idiot," _she exclaimed with amusement. "Your password is 1111."

He grimaced. _Of course._

She quickly typed something into the phone, pressed send, then tossed the phone back onto his lap. The frown that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face deepened at the sharp muffled sound that 'pinged' from within Makoto's faded black, leather jacket.

Her eyes widened, "What?" She asked innocently, "The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was to search my phone for clues." He bit back a groan. _Of course. _It never occurred to him, in any nightmare, to look at his phone. At least Makoto was being nicer about it than Minako had. "And now I have your number," she exclaimed with contrived brightness and a forced smile.

Then, with a determined nod, she swiveled around and, with a confidence that was more reminiscent of the Senshi of Jupiter, strode to the door. He didn't realize that she meant to leave until her hand was poised on the cheap brass handle.

His posture stiffened, and he scowled in confusion. "Where are you going?" He demanded and, not for the first time, his heart quickened as the desperation crept in once again.

Makoto glanced over her shoulder, a reassuring smile on her lips. "Well, you need to get to Usagi," she began staunchly. "I'm going back to get you an in, Mamoru," she stated bravely, though he noted that she visibly swallowed, and her hand shook slightly on the door.

His expression softened, and he nodded. "Be careful, Makoto," he replied softly, and though it was meant to be conveyed with heartfelt sincerity, he knew that it probably didn't offer her much comfort. He'd only glimpsed a piece of what they'd done to Usagi in this world, and he could only imagine how horrible it would be for her to go back there to that alone. "Just remember that it's not her fault," he pleaded, because his Usako was still in there. "And this isn't real."

Makoto nodded, took a deep breath, and twisted the handle. "Keep an eye on your phone, Mamoru."

It was the last thing she said before she stepped over the threshold and out into the night. He resisted the urge to flinch as the door slammed shut behind her with a thudding finality that made his heart quicken in his chest.

He exhaled deeply, and let himself fall back onto the bed that was a tangled mess of coarsely-woven, questionably clean, blankets. Makoto was strong, and if anyone could thoroughly infiltrate a dangerous gang and get him in, it was her.

The thudding at the base of his skull intensified, and he clenched his eyes shut against the pain, his hand curled around the phone in dreaded anticipation. It only took seconds before he unwillingly succumbed to sleep.

oOo

It felt like he'd only closed his eyes for a few seconds when the sharp, urgent-sound of knocking on the door woke him up. His eyes flew open, panicked, slightly out of sorts, because he'd forgotten, for just a moment, where he was.

The sun's rays were trying to penetrate through the dark and grimy film layered on the single, partially cracked window in the room. It wasn't doing much for lighting, and it may as well have been covered in a blackout curtain. When it registered that the rising sun meant it was morning, Mamoru sucked in a pained, panicked breath and shot up into a sitting position. His blurred vision focused, and he quickly fumbled for his phone tangled up in the blankets. There weren't any notifications on the screen, and his heart sank. The time glaring up at him indicated that Makoto had left his room hours ago. _He should have heard from her by now._

He was startled by another sharp rap on his door, this time followed by the door handle twisting, in hurried, truncated movements. Luckily, the door locked automatically when it was shut, but Mamoru's heart began to race, adrenaline pumping through his veins, as he scrambled from the bed and, as quietly as possible, strode to the door.

He swallowed nervously; his eyes fixed onto the handle with dismay. He was tempted to throw caution to the wind, because _what if it was Makoto? _But the things he'd witnessed up until this point was leading him to tread more carefully. What would happen if he died in a nightmare? Would Usagi and the others be trapped in here forever?

"Mamoru? Are you there?"

The voice was muffled, soft, and clearly female. It was oddly familiar and didn't _seem _threatening. He wrestled with his indecision for a moment longer, before leaning forward, grasping the handle and pulling the door open.

He tried to pull it open slowly, err on the side of caution to peek out before opening it all the way, but he was forced to step back, as a slender female, with short, blue hair, elbowed her way in and flew past him in a whirlwind of energy.

He watched as her eyes quickly scanned the tiny motel room, before she whirled around, propped her fists onto her hips, and promptly glared at him. "What the hell, Mamoru?" She snapped furiously; her cheeks tinged red with anger.

So, apparently, warehouse-thug-Mamoru somehow had a connection to Ami. He prayed it wasn't anything romantic as he slowly shut the door behind her. It closed with a 'click' that echoed loudly throughout the room.

He forced a neutral expression on his face, and swept his gaze over her, in search of something, _anything, _that might give him a clue about who she was to him in this world.

She was dressed somewhat casually, blue jeans, white shirt covered by an unzipped brown leather jacket, but his eyes widened slightly when he noted the _gun _holstered to her hip. _Fuck. _Was she one of his bad-guy thug friends?

He must have stared too long, because she closed the gap between them, lifted her hand, and cupped his face. It wasn't in a tender way, though, and her fingers pressed painfully into the skin of his cheek and jaw as she violently yanked his head from one side to the other. Her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she seemingly inspected him.

He hissed through his teeth as her nail cut into his skin, and he forcibly pulled away from her and fixed her with a sullen glare as he ran his hand over his jaw that was now sore from her manhandling. "Ow, what the hell, Ami?" He snapped automatically and was infinitely grateful that they always managed to keep the same names in each nightmare.

Ami rolled her eyes but took a casual step back. "I'm just checking that you're actually okay," she spat furiously. "Because you must have hit your head, right? You would have had to in order to _forget_ checking in!" She practically growled, eyeing him expectantly, presumably waiting for him to respond.

He cringed, once again finding himself in a position where he had no idea what the hell was going on. "Sorry," He opted to apologize, though, admittedly, it was a bit weak.

Ami didn't like apologies in this world, either, apparently, because the scowl on her face intensified as she let out a bark of humorless laughter. "_Sorry?" _she growled angrily. "That's a joke, right? You're kidding?" He had a feeling that her harshly murmured questions were rhetorical, so he opted not to answer. Which was the right decision as she ran her fingers through her hair, shook her head in disbelief before pacing the length of the room, much like Makoto had hours before.

If looks could kill, he'd be dead as she scowled at him. Her expression murderous, un-Ami-like, and slightly terrifying. "You were supposed to call it in before the shipment arrived, Mamoru!" She vented, her voice cracking with rage. "And, what else was I supposed to do when there was no god damn word from you? I had to call it! I _had _to, Mamoru," her voice broke on her final statement, and she stopped pacing, the blood draining from her face as her lower lip quivered. "You could have been dead. They could have discovered you, and I know you might be mad because we've been working this case for _months_. But what was I supposed to do?"

Ami shuddered, clenching her eyes shut in misery, as he let her words sink in. _Send them in? Working the case? The gun on her hip?_ His eyes widened with the sudden realization. Damn, he truly was in a poorly written action movie. Because, if Ami's words were any indication, he wasn't just a thug in a warehouse. He was an undercover cop. He tried to slow the steadily rising beat of his heart by inhaling deeply because things had admittedly become more complicated.

He swallowed, stomped down the bubbling panic that was rising at an alarming rate, and took a step towards Ami. "Hey," he murmured softly, grasping both of her shoulders in an attempt to reassure her. "I'm sorry, Ami. Things got… complicated," he admitted quietly, and she lifted her gaze, the aquamarine hues of her eyes searching his. "I hit my head, and I meant to... Check-in, but I fell unconscious." It was a lame excuse, though partially true, and Ami seemed to buy it.

The anger melted off of her face, and he felt the tension dissipate beneath his fingers as she slumped her shoulders. "Were you there? At the warehouse?" She asked softly. "God, Mamoru. We were _so _close, but the Tsukino's have their filthy hands everywhere!" She exclaimed, clearly distraught.

His heart was racing, because he wanted, no, _needed, _to know more. But he didn't want to make Ami suspicious. He pulled away, took a step back, and ran his fingers through his hair. _Again. _Hopefully, dream Mamoru didn't affect his real-life body. If it did, he was probably bald.

He cleared his throat and carefully considered his next words. "What… what happened?" It was a simple enough question, and Ami didn't seem fazed by it.

Instead, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, before opening them again. They were wide and filled with raw disappointment. "We got the shipment. But, Usagi and her brother slipped through our fingers. Everything they touch rots, Mamoru," she whispered with an intense hatred that broke his heart. "We can't connect them to _anything. _God, even the Yakuza won't touch that fucking family and their entourage." His heart was racing because this all sounded really bad, and it didn't bode well for him, or Makoto that had apparently walked back into a lion's den.

Ami sighed sadly, crossed her arms over her chest, and turned away from him. "When I couldn't find you, and I pulled the plug on the sting operation, I thought for sure we were going to get them this time. Because, we managed to arrest one of their _thugs," _she sneered the word, the tone with which it spilled from her lips was chilling. here was a lot of hatred between his friends in this world. "But, he _escaped _Mamoru. They paid off that rookie cop, you know, the dumb blonde. Mina- something. And they got away."

He wasn't able to stop the startled expression on his face at the mention of Minako's name, but it didn't matter because Ami wasn't really paying attention to him, anyway.

She laughed drily, miserably shaking her head. "He's probably dead now," she stated coldly, a mixture of anger and resignation laced into her tone. Her unfocused gaze cleared, and she fixed it onto him. "There's no way that cold-hearted bitch would have left him alive," she whispered, and he inhaled sharply because. God. She was talking about Usagi. His beautiful Usako. And that fucking _hurt._

Ami exhaled slowly; her eyes filled with desperation as she continued. "Did you see them there at the warehouse, Mamoru? Everything we have right now is circumstantial, but with a detective's testimony, an actual witness that she can't kill, or pay to have killed, we might have enough to get a warrant, and then—"

He instinctively interrupted her. "No," he blurted quickly. "They weren't there, Ami."

Ami's face fell with disappointment, deflated, she sighed miserably. If he _was _an undercover cop and Usagi was indeed a stone-cold criminal, there was no way he was going to get her to admit that she loved him if they arrested her and he was exposed. _No_. He needed to remain undercover.

Ami visibly swallowed, then nodded as the bitter regret etched into the contours of her face, and shone from the pools of her eyes. "I think it's time to call it, Mamoru," she conceded miserably. "It's too dangerous, especially now. She probably knows that you were at the warehouse. Your life is in danger. You need to come in."

That was the very last thing he needed to do, and he promptly shook his head. "No," he stated crisply. "I can still do this, Ami. Trust me," he promised vehemently.

Ami rolled her eyes skyward as if praying for patience before meeting his gaze again. "It took you three months to get that opening at the warehouse, you're _never _going to get close enough!" Ami exclaimed in disbelief.

He opened his mouth to reply when suddenly there was a loud 'ding' from the phone that he'd left perched on the edge of the bed. He couldn't help the way his heart began to race, or the way the blood rushed from his face as he strode across the room. His hand shook slightly when he picked up the phone.

"Mamoru?" Ami whispered hesitantly behind him. "What is it?"

The relief that swept through him when he clicked on the notification with Makoto's name was immediate. It was a text message with a time and address. He curled his fingers around the phone so tightly, it bent slightly under the pressure of his grip, before he turned to face Ami again.

"I can get close enough," he exclaimed breathlessly because the thought of seeing Usagi again, even as a cold-blooded gangster, filled him with excited anticipation. "Just don't blow my cover, please."

He could see the warring emotions that crossed Ami's face, and he hoped to God Usagi didn't get arrested, At least not before he could show her who she was again. These worlds were crafted in the worst possible ways, though, so he needed to prepare for the worst. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until Ami sighed and nodded in acquiescence. This was building up into one of the most complex things he'd been forced to do yet, but he held an image of Usako —_his Usako— _firmly in his mind and willed every last bit of exhaustion, self-pity and doubt away.

Their love was strong enough to get through this, and he was ready to prove it.

oOo


	2. Chapter 2

**Ruthless in Heels**

**Part 2**

He'd figured, based on what he'd witnessed in this world so far, that the address Makoto had given him would lead him somewhere isolated. He was not disappointed when he stepped onto the property of an industrial lot, secluded, and eerily quiet.

He wasn't sure where he was supposed to go. The vast array of red, steel slat shipping containers that lined the yard, pressed against tall, _inescapable, _chain-link fences, topped with coiled barbed concertina wire, did nothing to calm his racing heart. He couldn't stop the nervous churning in the pit of his stomach as he hesitantly stepped forward, the soles of his shoes thudding against the pavement, echoing, almost deafeningly loud, throughout the silence.

He heard them approach before he saw them; two armed, broad-shouldered brutes slinking from the shadows with matching stern, hardened expressions; menacingly dangerous glints flashing from hard-set eyes. They weren't anyone he recognized, and for a moment it occurred to him that meeting here, based on a cryptically received text message, was probably a bad idea.

It was too late to turn back, though, so he froze, lifted his hands in surrender, and fixed an amused half-smirk on to his face. "Hey guys," he exclaimed lightly. "Nice place you have here."

In retrospect, his attempt at humor was in poor taste. But it was the first thing that popped into his head. Though it did nothing to alleviate the painfully fast way his heart beat nervously in his chest. Nor did it faze the men, who halted without saying a word. They easily towered over him, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

It was admittedly a tense couple of minutes while they sized him up, their gazes slightly vacant as they swept over him in, what he imagined, was an intimidating manner.

He wished, more than anything, that this world granted him the abilities of Tuxedo Kamen, and he was beginning to wonder if he should make a run for it; try texting Makoto again, when brute number one grunted sharply, gesturing with his head —_that looked to be made up of more muscle than brain— _towards one of the red shipping containers behind him.

This did not look good, and if he didn't know that he was wading through another nightmare, he would have definitely made a different decision in this situation. As it stood, he shrugged with forced nonchalance and moved forward to follow behind brute one as he led him around the side of the container.

He could feel brute two following closely behind him. So close, in fact, that his breath was hot against the back of his neck. This was the part of the action movie where the well-meaning undercover cop was discovered and tortured to death. He was sure of it, and he bit back a slightly hysterical bark of laughter at the absurdity of it all, when they abruptly stopped.

He wished that the brutes would say something, maybe an indication to what the hell he was supposed to be doing. He only briefly glimpsed the side of a sleek black car as brute one leaned forward and slid open the door of the shipping container, the screeching sound of protesting, rusty metal ricocheting across the yard. Brute number two unexpectedly — and quite forcefully— shoved him over the threshold, then slammed the door shut behind him.

He stumbled into the hollowed storage space lit up by a flickering, half-broken bulb fixture, hanging haphazardly from the ceiling. His breath hitched in his throat, and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, the blood draining from his face, as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as he scanned the interior of the small space.

_Fuck_. He was going to die here.

At least, that was what it felt like because while there were broken chairs and half opened crates filled with rubbish, what _really_ made his blood freeze in his veins was the sight of plastic. There were plastic sheets that covered every inch of the interior of the room. He could only think of one reason to cover everything in plastic, and the thought made him shudder with dread as he hesitantly took a step forward.

Would Usagi and the others be stuck in a neverending gangster loop if he died here right now? And what would happen to his consciousness? Would he wake up in the lab?

He was mulling over the morbid thoughts when the rusted door squealed again as it slid open. He swiveled around on his heels, jaw clenched, stance tightened and poised to defend himself, when _she _stepped through the door.

Just like always, the sight of Usagi took his breath away. Even this darker, more menacing version of her; in another curve-molding black dress, impossibly high stilettos, and red painted lips. She still mesmerized him, and in that moment he internally vowed that if he ever got them out of here, he'd never take her for granted again. He'd forget every single introverted insecurity that had plagued their relationship in the past, and he'd laugh with her, communicate, and tell her how much he loved her. _Every fucking day. _For now, though, he needed to save her— _save them all— _from this role that she was being forced to play.

It was difficult to stomach the look on her face as she gracefully stepped toward him; cold, calculating with a terrifying smirk that made him cringe. Slender fingers curled around the handle of another gun. China-blue eyes fixed onto him curiously.

Her cold smile widened as she stopped a couple of steps away, a golden brow arched as her gaze hungrily swept over him. "I can see the appeal," she practically purred, and he tensed at the un-Usagi like sound, his fingers balling up into fists. "You _are _extraordinarily handsome." She giggled, sickly sweet, as the hand reverently palming the gun gestured around the room. "Don't be put off by the setting. See, there are only two people I trust in this world—" she began, taking another step toward him. "My brother and my best friend."

His heart began to race because there was an intensity laced into the way that the Usagi of this world spoke. Her words were edged with icy anger that terrified him.

She paused for only a second, seemingly pleased that he hadn't opted to interrupt her. "You see, I grew up with Makoto, and I've come to depend on her ability to be honest with me," Usagi's gaze narrowed shrewdly, and her lips pressed into a hard line as she searched his face. This time there was confusion etched there. "So, you can imagine my surprise to hear that Makoto is suddenly _very_ interested in saving your life."

She took another step towards him, so close that if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her. "Make no mistake," she whispered, and he couldn't breathe because she was so damn mesmerizing. "If not for her, you would be dead already."

She leaned forward in a slow and calculated movement until her lips hovered just above his ear. Her breath was warm against the skin of his neck, and he fought back the urge to grasp her waist and bury his face in her hair. "Because, _someone _told the cops about our last little rendezvous," she drawled quietly. "I hope, for Makoto's sake, that it wasn't you."

With a breathy, practiced laugh she stepped back again. Her eyes flashing brightly. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, suddenly feeling angry because she knew _exactly_ how she affected him. It was written into the curl of her lips, the confident, steady sway of her hips, the hard glint of satisfaction shining in her eyes.

He wanted his Usako back, and for the first time, he wasn't sure how he was going to get through to her.

He fixed his hardened gaze onto her face, searching for some kind of indication that this wasn't what she _truly_ wanted. "Nephrite," he blurted suddenly, without thinking. "The other worker in the warehouse. What happened to him?"

Her eyes widened, and her lips curled into a smug smile. "In my experience, men are fairly simple-minded, and they tend to squeal with the least amount of pressure," she explained with a pop of her lips and a snap of her fingers. It made his stomach turn violently. "I couldn't let you both live. Lucky for you, Makoto chose to vouch for you instead of him."

His heart stopped at Usagi's horrifying admission. To have made Makoto, her friend, choose between him and Nephrite… it didn't matter that gangster Usagi had no _idea _what that would have done to her. And for the first time since this had begun, he felt a flare of anger towards her unfurl in his chest. For just a minute, he forgot to remind himself that this wasn't _her_. His Usako would have never done something so inherently atrocious to _anybody. _All he felt in that moment was a painful wistfulness, grieving for the woman he loved and, without thinking, like a blur, he closed the gap between them.

She didn't have time to react as his right hand wrapped around her gun-holding wrist, and the fingers of his left hand laced forcefully, painfully almost, into the hair at the nape of her neck. He forcibly tugged her head until her face was tilted up towards his, her eyes wide, filled with a mixture of confusion and shock as he steadily met her gaze. Their faces mere inches apart.

She sucked in a sharp breath of air, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the expression on his face or the raw intensity that sizzled between them.

He'd made many reckless decisions in their shared nightmares. This was probably one of them. It didn't matter though, because he couldn't stand to see her this way. To hear the callous atrocities forced to spill from her lips.

It felt like time stood still for a second as he peered down at her. "Is this really you?" He demanded raspily. "Do you _really _like the person that you are?"

It was such a _dumb _fucking thing to say to a ruthless gangster that was holding a gun pointed at his chest with her finger poised on the trigger. But, he had to _know _that wasn't the only person he was talking to. That the bright, shining love of his life was buried under there somewhere.

It was fleeting, but for a moment, her eyes widened and there was a flash of vulnerability in the sapphire pools of her gaze. The hope that had been waning painfully in his chest unfurled and washed through him in dulcet waves of relief.

His reaction to glimpsing a piece of _his _Usagi was instantaneous. The common sense that he _should _have been using quickly slipped away. It was idiotic, without reasonable thought, and, _damn_, he really couldn't afford to be making _any _mistakes right now. Especially in this type of nightmare, where Usagi's role was _dangerous _and _volatile_. But, he was human too, and the truth wasn't complicated. _He fucking missed her_.

One second he was peering into her eyes, and in the next, his lips were on hers. It was desperate, bruising, and hell, she could have _literally _shot him. But before he knew it, she was kissing him back. And her movements were just as unforgiving as his were. It was nothing like the kisses he'd shared with _his _Usako. This was harsh, angry, blissfully painful. But he could _feel _her underneath all of that, and in an instant, he knew _exactly _how he was going to get through to Usagi in this world.

He'd barely had time to bask in the excitement of his epiphany when her slender fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head, and with an infuriated growl, she yanked hard, forcefully pulling his face away from hers.

It stung slightly, where she'd tugged, but the flushed look on her face, and the swollen curve of her lips, even as her eyes flared with hardened rage, was worth it.

She took a graceful step back, her chest heaving like she was out of breath, and lifted the revolver in her hand. He was disappointed to see that her hand was steady; not a visible shake in sight. But he wasn't deterred. If he hadn't affected her, he'd already be dead.

Her expression was murderous as she fixed her eyes onto him. "If you ever do that again, I'll put a bullet in your brain. Without a second thought," she snarled icily, rosy lips curling over her teeth into a rage-filled sneer.

She was the terrifying gangster again, but this time, he wasn't the least bit afraid. He knew her better than she knew herself.

He bit back a smile, kept his expression appropriately contrite, and nodded mutely.

Without taking her eyes off of him, she craned her neck to the side, tilting her head back. "Kaito! Asahi!" She barked loudly, and brute one and two were instantaneously striding through the door. Usagi's cold stare slid onto him again. "You'll be staying with us for a little while, Chiba Mamoru," she began, and her tone no longer held the mocking playfulness that it had before. It was steady, dangerously quiet, almost. And it sent shivers running down his spine. "If for any reason you prove yourself to be exactly who my brother thinks you are, a filthy gutter rat with a big mouth, I'll gladly kill you. You and Makoto, both."

There wasn't time for her threat to register, because she turned on her impossibly high heels and slipped gracefully through the door.

It was only when she was gone that he exhaled deeply, releasing a strained breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

The brutes didn't say a single word as they escorted him out into the night, and into the sleek black sedan that he'd glimpsed earlier.

Brute two slid into the driver seat, and number one, in all of his oversized, lumbering glory, ducked into the back seat with him. He wasn't sure where they were going, and honestly, he didn't really care. All he knew was that he was _in_. Which meant that even though he had his work cut out for him, he was determined to get them _out._

**oOo**

He was sure that the ensuing silence in the vehicle was some kind of method to intimidate him. Or, if the attempt at menacing sullenness on Brute one's face was any indication, at the very least, make him feel uncomfortable. If that was their intended goal, they'd failed miserably, and with a tired sigh, he laid his back against the leather headrest and closed his eyes.

He didn't realize how exhausted he was until he unwillingly drifted off to sleep. The next thing he became aware of, was a sharp jab in the ribs that instantly jolted him awake. Brute one was glaring at him, probably irritated that he'd dared to fall asleep in the first place.

He inhaled slowly, blinking the bleary remnants of his impromptu nap from his eyes, as he craned his neck sideways to peer out of the window. At some point, the sun must have risen, because it hung just above the horizon; emanating a harsh red and orange streaked glow across the early morning sky.

He didn't recognize the area, and his brows drew together into a puzzled frown as he inwardly cursed himself for having given into his exhaustion when Brute two sharply turned left. He was vaulted forward into the back of the driver's seat as the car turned down a dirt road, the wheels bouncing into the divots and potholes as Brute two drove way too fast over them. The road wound and twisted around bends, and Mamoru noted that the foliage was thickening, pressing in closer to the road that narrowed beneath a canopy of towering cherry blossom trees.

He clutched the door handle —not quickly enough, apparently— to keep from being jostled again when they hit another pothole. He sucked in a pained breath through his teeth, glaring at the back of Brute two's head as he ran his fingers over his elbow that had just connected sharply to the door, due to the brute's apparent inability to drive over rough terrain. He grasped the leather seat on either side of him in a vain attempt to steady himself as they pulled into a clearing and the car screeched to a grinding halt.

Mamoru had barely glanced out of the window, when brute one leaned over, roughly grabbed the handle of his door, and pushed it open. "Get out," he snapped, his tone low, harsh and brooding, and Mamoru resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was more than happy to be exiting the cramped confines of the car without being ordered to do so.

Wordlessly, he pulled himself out of the car, forcibly ignoring Brute one sliding out behind him, and froze. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat because nestled in the middle of Kyoto's famous, towering, bamboo forest, seemingly completely hidden, was a vast manor that loomed imposingly above him. It looked like a traditionally built mansion, standing tall on intricately carved posts and lintels supporting layers of gently curved roofs that extended far beyond the walls; a red-stoned, thatched roof, precise and strategically placed, covering vast wooden verandas.

It was such a strange mixture of old and modern Japanese architecture, but more importantly, it was lavish, enormous, and, by the group of armed men that he could see patrolling the property, well-protected, too.

He supposed that for a family of gun-smugglers that were, according to Ami, more dangerous than the Yakuza, this was a fitting location. He wondered where Usagi was, or if she was even here, when Brute two jabbed him sharply, _once again,_ in the back, urging him forward with an annoyed grunt.

With a sigh of irritation, Mamoru took a step forward without resistance. "You know, there's this saying," he murmured, his tone laced with annoyance. "You catch more bees with honey than with vinegar. So, words instead of grunts? Might be a good place to start." It was a muttered statement that he didn't really expect a response to. He did catch the wisp of a smirk from Brute one that was striding briskly beside him, though. Which was a small victory that Mamoru gratefully accepted.

They made their way up to a cobblestone pathway, the landscape lush and well maintained. The aroma from the cherry blossom trees almost overwhelming when they stopped in front of the house. Upon closer inspection, it was even bigger than he'd first surmised, and he was feeling a little out of his depth when the front doors slid open with a whirring slam that echoed around them.

He sighed with relief, the tenseness uncoiling from the muscles in his shoulders, at the sight of Makoto. Though she was casually dressed, her hair pinned up in her signature Jupiter ponytail, the grim look on her face was severely out of place. Her lips pressed into a hard line, her face pale, and her movements brisk, and hurried.

His stomach turned because he could tell that something had happened. _Something was horribly wrong_. And he knew it was because of how hard it was for Makoto to differentiate between who Usagi was, with what she was being forced to do.

Makoto stopped in front of them, her gaze sweeping past him and over the twin brutes as she propped her fists confidently on her hips and steadily met their gaze. "It's fine, Kaito, Asahi," she snapped, her tone harsh and commanding. "I can handle it from here."

He thought that they would protest, but they nodded respectfully and wordlessly —_no surprise there— _twisted on their heels and disappeared. Lumbering off the pathway to join the rest of the quiet, shifty-eyed, armed men that lingered where the property's rolling, perfectly manicured lawn stopped and edged into the unimaginably tall reeds of the bamboo forest.

His breath hitched in his throat as he lifted his gaze, met Makoto's hardened eyes, and leaned forward, his movements filled with urgency. "Makoto—" he whispered desperately because he needed to know what was happening. Where were they? Was Usagi here?

The brunette promptly interrupted him with a sharp shake of her head, and a silencing look in her eyes. "Not here," she replied brusquely, and curled slender fingers around his wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Come on."

She tugged him forward, her movements just as brisk and hurried as the sharp tone that seemed to be etched into her voice. He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked, studying the hardened edges of her profile and noting suddenly that she had a gun holstered to her hip.

He grimaced, "A gun?" he murmured, brow raised in disbelief.

The glance that she shot him over her shoulder made his heart clench painfully in his chest. Her lips curled up into a miserable smile, and the shine that was prevalent in all of the Senshi's eyes, dulled and tinged with sadness that he didn't want to understand. "Everyone has a gun in this place, Mamoru," she replied brokenly, her tone harsh and condemning. "I'm glad she didn't use her's on you."

He didn't respond, and by the way that Makoto pulled him through the door, gaze fixed firmly ahead, she didn't really expect him too.

The interior of the mansion was more modern looking than the exterior. Sleek fixtures, polished floors all bathed in the sunlight that poured in from floor to ceiling windows, probably double-paned and bulletproof by the look of them. Surprisingly, it wasn't empty; men with guns, women in cleaning uniforms, coming and going, as they swept by them without saying a word.

It was only when they made it to the bottom of a grand staircase, and a small blonde scurried by them, that he realized that they were all looking at Makoto with fear; their gazes all respectfully averted, flashing with terrified deference. His brow furrowed into a contemplative frown. Makoto was entrenched more deeply into this then they'd previously assumed.

It was apparent to him by the hard, unyielding way in which Makoto held herself as he followed her up the staircase, her jaw clenched tightly, her fingers curled into fists, that Makoto was very aware of the role that she'd been forced to play in this nightmare.

It was the epitome of cruel to have placed Makoto in this role. The tough, unyielding fighter whom everyone scurried away from in fear. He knew that this had been one of her biggest insecurities before Usagi had met her and pulled her into the bright, shining light of her love. So, to have _Usagi, _the bubbly, sweet savior that had drawn them all together, be the very reason that Makoto was looked at this way here… It was fucking cruel, and it filled him with rage. The monsters had upped their game.

He was getting worked up, the pain and anguish bubbling in his chest as they made their way through a maze of halls, passing door after door, until Makoto stopped abruptly in front of one, leaned forward, opened it, and promptly pulled him over the threshold.

The room was dark until Makoto flicked a switch and it lit up brightly. It was a small, plain room with white painted walls; completely bare, except for a thickly laid tatami floor mat on one side of the bedroom, and a small dresser, with bamboo inlay, on the other.

He glanced over at Makoto, who'd stopped, her eyes narrowed as she carefully scrutinized the room.

He frowned, thoroughly puzzled, and took a step towards her. "Makoto—"

She swirled towards him, eyes wide, and pressed an index finger to her lips, promptly silencing him again. He snapped his mouth shut, tilting his head in confusion as Makoto strode towards the far end of the room, knelt down, and carefully ran her fingers along the baseboard. He shook his head, his brow furrowed, when she stopped suddenly, pried a piece back and carefully lifted a small mechanical device from behind it.

It dawned on him then, and he grimaced as he watched her. With a grim expression, she pressed it into her palm, fiddling with it until he heard a tiny 'click' that indicated that she'd either broken it or managed to turn it off.

He watched as the tension melted away from her posture, and the stiffened set of her shoulders slumped as if all of the gumption had been swept out of her. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her lower lip trembled as she stared miserably down at the device in her palm.

"From now on," she whispered brokenly, curling her fingers around it, "assume that every single room in this house is bugged."

He was at a loss for words, unable to speak because he'd never witnessed her like this before. His breath caught in his throat, and the blood drained from his face as she tilted her head up, and her haunted gaze met his.

"Mamoru," she began, "I hope you have a plan, because… Because…" She choked on the words, and the sob that bubbled up in her throat was painfully raw, and it snapped him out of his confused daze.

With a shaky breath of shared pain, he leaned forward and pulled the brunette into his arms. She buried her head in her hands, her sobs muffled by her palms that were pressed to her lips. His arms shook too because this was more than a nightmare. It was the first time one of the Senshi who'd managed to stay awake had been affected so severely, and it broke his heart all over again.

It took several minutes before Makoto managed to control her emotions, and she was quick to pull away, furiously swiping at the remnants of the tears on her flushed cheeks. When she met his gaze again, she seemed to have rediscovered her strength.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "Look, I don't know how you're going to do this," she began, and he was relieved that her voice held more of that Jupiter confidence that he was used to. "That person that should be Usagi is a monster, Mamoru." Her words weren't unexpected, given what she'd probably seen here, but that was still _his _Usako. And, whatever she'd done, was not her fault. "I don't know how you plan on prying a confession of love from her. She doesn't love anybody. She's cold, dark, practically ev—"

This time Mamoru interrupted her, "Enough," he snapped angrily, his expression darkening with an angry scowl. "I'm going to need you to stop right there, Makoto," he demanded, and Makoto pressed her lips together, her eyes flashing with pained anger that he needed to fix _right now. _"What did I tell you before you left the motel?"

She said nothing, her jaw clenched tightly, her fists pressed into her sides, her eyes flashing stubbornly.

He shook his head sharply, frustrated because he needed Makoto on his side right now. He needed her to understand. "Everything that's happening here isn't real," he whispered harshly. "And everything that Usagi has done would kill her. It's probably _killing _her, Makoto. None of this," he gestured angrily with his hands, "is her fault. It's our job to save her."

Her expression softened, her eyes glossing over, as she miserably mulled over his words.

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Makoto, I don't know what happened with Nephrite," he murmured, and his heart twisted when she flinched, "but, I promise you that Usagi is in there. Please," he pleaded hoarsely. "I need your help."

It was another minute as he watched an array of expressions cross over the delicate features of her face. He could have wept with relief when the determined resolve that he recognized as the Senshi of Jupiter etched, finally, into her facial expression.

She took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. "Right," she replied, and the despondency that had been so clearly laced into her tone was gone now. "I'm sorry. Of course she's in there. God," she swallowed painfully. "Mamoru. We need to get out of here. I want her back."

He nodded in agreement, feeling the determined resolve building in him as well. "We will," he stated resolutely. "Tell me what you know."

Makoto promptly began to relay the inner workings of the Tsukino family, and it was difficult not to weep, or howl with rage, with every horrifying detail that she'd learned since coming back to the house after the failed sting operation. The Tsukino's were dangerous, terrifyingly so, and they led a veritable army of armed thugs with iron fists. Little to no room for mercy.

They were not only gun smugglers, but they were also embezzlers; an intricate web of well-paid politicians, police officers, and Yakuza families in their back pockets. They were practically untouchable, and anyone who had dared an attempt to expose them wound up either missing or found dead. The fact that _he _was still breathing was only as a favor that Usagi did not usually grant, for Makoto.

He was on thin ice, though, and the only reason he'd been pulled into the mansion where Usagi, Kunzite and their endless army of thugs resided, was so that they could keep a close eye on him.

Makoto's expression was grim when she finished. "Don't slip up, Mamoru," she pleaded. "Kunzite is unstable and fiercely protective of Usagi. He'll kill you without blinking. It's hard to watch." She grimaced, lost in her thoughts, and he grit his teeth. He was well acquainted with Kunzite's possessiveness, and he wondered why, once again, the monsters had forced him into that type of role.

Makoto took a deep breath, stepped towards him, and grasped his hand. "Mamoru, you've done this before, right? We're going to get her out of here?"

He peered down into her pleading expression, his throat constricted with emotion, and nodded; hoping that his expression conveyed confidence that he wasn't entirely sure he felt.

He must have reassured her because she exhaled with relief, and the corners of her lips quirked up into a small, grateful smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of the bedroom door swinging open, the movement eliciting a gust of air, startled them.

Makoto sucked in a sharp intake of breath, her face whitening even more, as she pulled her hand away from his arm as if he'd burned her. He swiveled around, muscles tense, and bit back a gasp at the sight of Usagi leaning casually against the door jamb.

Like always, she knocked the breath from his lungs, and his gaze swept up the length of her. From her high-heeled clad feet, up to the bared, creamy-white expanse of smooth, endlessly long legs, to her arms crossed casually across the tightly cinched dress covering her midsection. The loose, glossy blonde locks of her hair tumbled over her shoulder that was pressed up against the door frame, a mocking smirk curled up on ample, red lips.

She chuckled, arching a blonde brow in amusement as her eyes flicked back and forth between him and Makoto. "Oh, don't let me interrupt," she chimed brightly, but Mamoru knew Usagi well enough, even like this, to catch the hard glint of jealousy that flashed briefly in her eyes. "I knew there was a reason you wanted me to spare him, Mako-chan," she said in a forced airy tone as she gracefully pushed away from the door, and took a slow, calculated step into the room.

He could hear Makoto's breathing quicken in panic beside him, and the brunette stepped forward, hands raised in supplication. "Usa, I'm sorry. I just—"

Usagi sharply raised her hand, effectively silencing her with a flick of her wrist. "Oh, Mako-chan," she practically purred, a sly smile curled onto her lips. "Don't apologize. I can definitely see the appeal," she drawled, before closing the gap between them. His breath was stuck in his throat, once again, as she slowly ran her index finger up his chest, along the length of his jaw, before swiping it across his lips. "He's an _excellent _kisser," she murmured, her malicious gaze sliding onto Makoto's stunned face.

_Fuck. _Usagi had mistakenly assumed that Makoto had pleaded for his life on a romantic inclination, and, _damn_, she was trying to hurt her because of it. If Usagi was conscious inside of the cold shell that she was being forced to play, she was probably screaming in agony right now, and that realization pissed him off enough that his expression darkened and, without thinking, he firmly grabbed her hand that had settled against his chest and shoved it away.

"Don't," he practically snarled. "Cruelty isn't an attractive quality."

He heard Makoto groan in dismay beside him, but there was a flash of something in Usagi's eyes. Another momentary glimpse of vulnerability that was _his _Usako, and he exhaled with relief; reassured that she was still there.

Usagi swallowed angrily and took a step back, barely regaining control of her emotions before the mask of faux-impassiveness fell back into place. "Your loss, Chiba," she hissed, shooting Makoto a seething glare. "Better get some rest. I want you to join me tomorrow for a little visit, Chiba. So we can see if you're worth keeping around," she sneered before twisting on her heel.

Before she left the room, though, she stopped, casually tossing her hair over her shoulder before coldly meeting Makoto's gaze. "Oh, Mako-chan," she chimed. "The next time you disable a bug because you want to fuck one of our guests, run it by me first, okay?"

They didn't have time to respond, and his stomach churned violently at her words before she disappeared into the hall. Slamming the door shut behind her.

**oOo**

He'd barely slept the night before, his eyes opened and fixed onto the foreign shapes outlined in the darkness of the room that he'd been assigned to. His thoughts raced with colliding visions of Usagi. One of her bright-eyed and laughing, playfully twirling around in front of him, and the next one a horrifying mixture of all the roles that she'd been forced to play.

He'd never wanted to save her so badly as he did now, and after she'd left the room last night, he'd made a determined vow with Makoto. They were going to end this game by _any _means necessary.

He'd finally drifted off to sleep in the hazy, early hours of the morning, and it felt like he'd just closed his eyes, when he was awoken, once again, by a painfully sharp jab in his side. He opened his eyes and blinked with irritation up into Brute one's face. His permanently fixed scowl glared down at him, the tip of his shoe still perched at the edge of the tatami mat indicating that the _jerk _had _kicked _him.

Mamoru sighed loudly, raking his palm across his eyes in an attempt to clear the bleary remnants of sleep from his vision. "I thought we talked about this," he snapped with exasperation. "Remember? Honey? Vinegar? The crazy _idea_ that you can use words rather than continuously _jabbing _me in the side?"

The brute said nothing —_shocker— _and Mamoru propped himself up onto his elbows as he slowly pulled his body up into a sitting position. The sunlight was pouring in through the window, its rays weaving through the reeds of the forest outside before piercing through the window pane and bathing the room in dusky oranges. It had barely risen, and he sighed, shaking his head to forcibly clear it of exhaustion as the brute took a step back.

The hulking figure was pretty intimidating, and Mamoru was definitely at a disadvantage; prone figure on the tatami mat at his feet, bared torso, the thin sheet he'd been provided tangled around his waist.

He didn't feel an inkling of fear, though, and that was probably why he couldn't help the irritation from etching onto his face as he raised an eyebrow questioningly and fixed his gaze onto the man. "Well?" He questioned sharply. "What do you want… what was your name again? Are you Asahi, or Kaito? Because I'm going to be really honest here. Right now, I refer to you as brute one in my head."

At this point, he was pretty sure he was talking to a wall, so he was startled when Brute one's lips quirked up into an amused grin. "Asahi," he replied simply, his tone tinged with laughter. "You're pretty mouthy for a Shatei," he mused, and Mamoru barely held back a frown at the title. "Kumicho Tsukino wants to see you."

He didn't know much about Yakuza, though, as Tuxedo Kamen, he'd run into the occasional non-supernatural criminal. So, the titles that Asahi had uttered, he knew, had something to do with a mafia family hierarchy.

He couldn't help the way his heart began to race in his chest, a mixture of dread and anticipation. He'd managed to get Usagi's attention. Now he just needed to break through this bone-chilling barrier to save her, and he was anxious to start doing that, _now_.

He was quick to rise after that, and Asahi allowed him enough time to use the facilities as well as dress into a fresh, surprisingly well-fitted, outfit that had magically appeared on his dresser. Though, if he had to venture a guess, it was probably courtesy of one of the many uniformed women that he'd witnessed flitting about the mansion with terror imprinted onto their carefully averted gazes.

He had more time to study the interior of the house as he let Asahi guide him, and he was torn between awe, marveling at the sheer beauty and elegance of every fixture in this place, and feeling appalled, because the money to fund this type of build had probably been procured in an unsavory manner.

They were joined shortly by Brute two, or Kaito, as they slipped through double wide cedarwood doors that were etched with intricate, extremely detailed scenes of burning dragons. He had to forcibly pull his eyes away from the beautiful designs as they stepped into a large, brightly lit room that housed an extravagantly long dining room table.

He halted, sandwiched between Kaito and Asahi, forcibly keeping his expression neutral as his gaze locked onto Usagi who was seated at the end of the table; a vast array of fruit and pastries spread out in front of her. Today, she was dressed in a form-fitting, V-necked, white dress with an elegant flower-patterned lace overlay. She looked every bit the picture of refined elegance and purity, and it almost brought him to his knees. Because it reminded him of his Serenity, minus the odangoed hairstyle that he solely associated with her. Instead, her hair was swept back into an equally elegant hairstyle that took his breath away.

She hadn't noticed them yet, as she was currently arguing with a stout, pale-faced man, whose lips were pursed in open disapproval. "Kumicho Tsukino, I truly mean no disrespect, but as your Saiko-komon, it is my duty to advise you in these matters. Would it not be more prudent to wait for Oyabun Tsukino to accompany you?"

Mamoru's brow furrowed into a curious frown as he watched Usagi crane her neck to the side, a slow, dangerous smile curled onto her lips as her shrewd gaze coolly perused the advisor beside her. "My brother is currently indisposed," she enunciated slowly, her eyes flashing angrily. The advisors face paled even more, and he visibly gulped. "He's probably tangled up with his new, blonde-haired, plaything," she added, then her lips widened into a terrifying smile as she arched a blonde brow. "You can, however, be the one to interrupt him," she offered, the tone of her voice and the sharp inhale from the man beside her as he practically shuddered at the thought, was a clear indication that this was not in his best interest.

The advisor cleared his throat and vehemently shook his head. "No, of course not, Kumicho Tsukino," he stuttered, and it irritated Mamoru to see the look on Usagi's face. She was so clearly relishing in the man's discomfort. "I only meant that perhaps you might wait until…"

Usagi had apparently reached the limit of her patience because her expression darkened, and she promptly interrupted him. "Enough," she bellowed harshly, and everyone in the room shuddered. Which, to Mamoru, was ridiculous. This was still his _Usako. _The sweet, beautiful girl that had wept when he'd accidentally hit a squirrel with his car. He couldn't wait to dig _that _girl out of _Kumicho Tsukino_. "I am perfectly capable of handling a business transaction with a minor, insignificant member of a barely prominent Yakuza family, Hinata. Don't question me again," she commanded angrily, and Hinata conceded, bowing respectfully before taking a step back to stand amidst a line of hard-eyed men.

Usagi straightened, her fierce expression melting into a satisfied one as her gaze finally swept over them. He noted that the china-blue of her eyes lingered for a moment on his face and he wished, more than anything, that he could glimpse _his _Usagi again.

She perched her elbows on the edge of the table, daintily propping her chin in her palms, "Besides," she mused brightly, "I'll have these three brooding men to protect me. Won't I, Asahi, Kaito..." her gaze flicked from each one of them before stopping on him. "Mamoru?"

The way she whispered his name, purposefully soft and enticing, made his heart flutter and it was difficult to keep his expression neutral and stand still in front of her when all he wanted to do was shake her until she remembered, then pull her into his arms, and bury his face in her hair.

He barely managed a nod of affirmation with the others, when Usagi sat up, her smile widening as she gestured to the spread of food in front of her. "Good, now eat," she commanded imperiously. "When we've finished breakfast, we can go."

Usagi leaned back in her chair, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips as he followed suit with Asahi, Kaito and a few of the other men that gratefully moved forward to pick at the food on the table.

He absentmindedly picked up an apple, his eyes locked firmly onto Usagi who was also watching him. Her eyes were bright, flashing with curiosity as she boldly let her gaze sweep over him.

He thought, for just a second, that this may not be as impossible as he'd assumed when Hinata stepped forward to take a castella cake off of the table. Usagi's gaze immediately snapped back onto the advisor. "Not you," she hissed icily, and Hinata's eyes widened fearfully as a cold smile slid vengefully onto her lips. "In fact, I don't want to see you eat for… hmm…" she pursed her lips, gazing upwards in contrived contemplation. "Four days," she whispered coldly, and he had to hold back the appalled look that threatened to wash over his face. Because surely, she wasn't serious.

She was though, and the silence that fell over the room was an indication that everyone knew it, including Hinata who visibly swallowed back his terror. "Four is the number of times that you dared to question me this morning, and four is the number of days that you will not consume a single ounce of sustenance."

Usagi waved her wrist, dismissing Hinata before daintily plucking a strawberry off of the table, sighing with pleasure as she bit into it.

Hinata nodded slowly, his eyes downcast as he stepped away from the table. "Yes, Kumicho Tsukino," he whispered miserably, his voice trembling. "My apologies."

Mamoru let the apple fall back onto the table with a dull thud, unable to stomach the cruelty, and, just like it had probably done to Makoto after witnessing her like this, the hope began to wane painfully in the cavity of his chest.

That was until Usagi's eyes met his.

He didn't shy away from her gaze, and he didn't hide the contempt for what she'd just done, either. The flame of hope roared back to life at the way her satisfied smirk faded from her lips, as her eyes narrowed in confusion, and then, suddenly, _there it was_; a flash of self-hatred, and a glint of remorse.

**oOo**

There was a thick mist that hung in the air, and ominous gray clouds gathered in the sky above them when the sleek black sedan that he'd been forced into yesterday pulled onto yet another isolated, winding dirt road that was roughly an hour away from the Tsukino's hidden manor.

The time he spent in the black car this time was admittedly much more enjoyable than the day before. Instead of being wedged between the door and the sullen-faced brute that spent most of the drive glaring miserably ahead, he was comfortably nestled beside the blonde-haired, ruthless gangster, who still smelled like lavender and vanilla. It was overwhelming, and he wished, more than anything, he could pull her into his arms and forget all about what was currently happening.

He forcibly ignored the unbidden impulse though, as silence settled thickly in the car between them.

There seemed to be an unspoken understanding that you were not to speak to Kumicho Tsukino unless she deigned to talk to you. The brutes that were both seated in the front of the vehicle, Asahi in the driver's seat this time, _never _made direct eye contact with Usagi.

It was something he'd noted was common with every underling they'd encountered as she'd swept out of the mansion, chin tilted up haughtily, as she gracefully maneuvered impossibly high, white-heeled stilettos as they'd trailed behind her.

He knew that it was important that he _tried _to appear subservient. Usagi, the one in this world, anyway, was incredibly dangerous, but he found that he was not able to abide by the same rules as the others, and it was practically impossible to keep his gaze from lingering on the bared, slender legs delicately crossed in the back seat of the car. Or, the exposed slight curve of her neck as it bent forward, her eyes glued to her phone perched delicately in her hand.

She'd caught him staring more than once in that hour, and he was sure that if it had been anyone else, she'd have already threatened him with the gun that she always carried with her. The one that he'd watched her strap to her thigh beneath the billowing folds of her lacy, white dress as she peered at him seductively over her shoulder. As it stood, she seemed thrilled by every lingering look he couldn't help, and her smirk widened smugly, her eyes smoldering with a promise that made his heart skip a beat, despite himself.

He made a concerted effort not to look at her after that, and instead fixed his gaze on the passing scenery outside of his car window.

The Usagi in this world was used to getting what she wanted, and he'd seen enough to know that she liked the attention. He didn't intend to give in to her that way, because the only time he'd managed to catch a glimpse of his Usako was when he'd dared to defy her.

The manor that they pulled up to this time was considerably smaller than the one that the Tsukino's owned. Though, he noted that this one was just as well protected, with one pronounced difference. The men that they drove past were not armed; not with guns, anyway. This was not a surprise to him, because as far as he knew, even the Yakuza did not handle firearms, preferring other means of protection instead.

He knew that this made the Tsukino's a dangerously rare exception and, not for the first time on the drive over, he wondered what the hell they were walking into today.

When Asahi smoothly pulled the car into park, Kaito was quick to exit the vehicle and open the door for Usagi, who imperiously held her hand out, uncrossed her legs and carefully slid out of the car onto a well-maintained pavilion.

Asahi spared him only a brief glance before he slid out of the car and jerked his head in a beckoning gesture, which Mamoru understood to be a silent command to follow suit.

He pressed his lips into a hard line, a feeling of dread uncoiling in the pit of his stomach as he moved to stand beside Usagi. Something didn't _feel _right. Though, he wasn't sure if it was because something awful was about to happen, or if he was just generally uncomfortable with the unsavory nature of this visit. Whatever it was, Usagi appeared unfazed as she stood, a look of irritation etched onto her face, arms crossed as she impatiently tapped one of her high-heeled shoes.

Asahi and Kaito also seemed unconcerned; though, honestly, it was hard to tell because the brutes always seemed tense and ready to fight.

Finally, the more traditional, paper-thin doors that were more common in this type of structure, soundlessly slid open and his breath hitched in his throat because he recognized the man that stepped out onto the veranda and peered coldly down at them. It was Jadeite. The short, sandy mop of blonde hair was slicked back, dressed just as suavely as Kunzite had been, his shoulders squared, and a smirk curled onto his lips.

He felt Usagi stiffen beside him, and he risked a furtive sideways glance at her. Her expression darkened, her lips pursed with irritation as she glared up at him.

Jadeite's smirk only widened at her petulant expression. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, Usagi-san," he apologized politely, though his tone was clearly contrived.

It was very clear to Mamoru that Jadeite despised Usagi, and he couldn't help the way his heart quickened nervously, and every protective instinct inside of him was screaming in protest; begging him to shield her from Jadeite's venomous stare.

He shook his head sharply to clear it. That was ridiculous, of course. The Usagi of this world was perfectly capable of protecting herself.

The mist around them seemed to thicken, and a light drizzle settled over them like the sky was threatening to begin raining in earnest when an icy smile that perfectly mirrored Jadeite's curled onto her lips. "Oh, it wasn't too long at all, Jed," she purred, and the forced mask of polite welcome fell momentarily from his face as his eyes glinted with a brief flash of fury. "Aren't you going to invite us in? This was, after all, your idea."

Mamoru's trepidation only heightened as six tattooed, clearly trained members of the Yakuza family filtered out onto the veranda behind Jadeite.

Jadeite nodded in response; his smile so obviously filled with hatred. "Of course," he murmured apologetically, bowing respectively. "I will, of course, ask that you hand over your cellular devices and any firearms that you might have on your person to the gentleman over here," he demanded, gesturing towards the men that had just poured out behind him.

Mamoru swallowed nervously, because he hated a gun just as much as the next person, but without that clear defining weapon that gave them the slight upper hand, their small group would clearly be at a horrible disadvantage. _Couldn't Usagi tell that they were in danger?_

Apparently, she couldn't. Or, she was too damn arrogant. Either way, he practically growled out in protest when she nodded in acquiescence, leaned over, and inched the bottom seam of her dress up slowly to pull the gun from her thigh. He was sure he could hear the furious panic-induced pounding of his heart in his ears when two of the tattooed men stepped forward to divest them of their only means of protection, as well as communication. _What the fuck?_

Asahi and Kaito had complied just as quickly as Usagi, and he was at a loss for words when one of the men stopped just in front of him. His expression was as sour as the smell on his breath. "Gun, phone," he demanded frostily.

Mamoru shook his head, "I have neither," he snapped back, still in disbelief, and the man growled with irritation. Roughly running his hands along the length of him, briskly frisking him. Mamoru instinctively shoved him away. "I already told you, I don't have anything!"

The man reared up, his eyes flashing menacingly when Usagi interrupted, brightly chiming in. "He's not armed," she supplied, her eyes flicking over to Jadeite. "He's one of our more… simple Shatei's."

He wasn't able to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but, surprisingly, Jadeite nodded curtly, and bad-breath backed off.

"I'm sure you understand what would happen if you were to lie to me, Usagi-san," Jadeite threatened and, despite the awful person that Usagi was in this nightmare, his hands clenched into angry fists as he stepped forward protectively.

It didn't go unnoticed by Usagi who frowned in confusion before she shook her head and refocused her attention on Jadeite. "And I'm sure you know _exactly _what would happen if something were to happen to us here."

Something flashed through the green irises of Jadeites eyes, then, and Mamoru couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it did not reassure him.

The general nodded curtly, twisted on his heel and gestured them forwards, inviting them to follow him into the manor.

His vision blurred, his breath quickening, because, hell, this wasn't right. Though he hadn't been granted the abilities of Tuxedo Kamen's transformation here, he knew, with every fiber of his being, that his instincts were never wrong. Usagi was in danger, and there was no _way _he could let her walk into that house.

Which was why his arm shot out, blocking her way when she stepped forward to follow. "Something's wrong," he whispered, his tone raspy and filled with panic. "You can't walk into that house unarmed, Usako."

He was so focused on the potential danger, that the term of endearment just slipped from his lips. Her eyes widened, glistening with confusion, and if she really _had _been only the cold-hearted gangster that enjoyed death and pain, she probably would have sneered at him mockingly.

Instead, she tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed as she gently laid her hand on his arm, perfectly manicured fingers curling gently around his wrist. "Mamoru," she murmured softly. "This is normal. It's a formality. I promise you that if a member of the Yakuza family even _thought _about harming me, or the people under my protection, my brother would destroy them."

It was evident by the simultaneous looks of startled confusion on Asahi and Kaitos faces that Usagi did not make it a habit to explain her actions to anyone, let alone a lowly underling. She must have realized her mistake, too, because her eyes narrowed angrily and her face reddened with embarrassment.

She angrily shoved his arm away, "Get back in line, Chiba," she practically hissed under her breath before she smoothed out her dress, cleared her throat, and collected herself before taking a confident step forward.

He bit back an exasperated sigh and ignored the sideways glances from the Brutes that were seemingly impressed, and perhaps slightly suspicious now, as he was forced to follow behind them. The hairs rose on the back of his neck in alarm as they stepped over the threshold onto the tatami mat covered floor.

Jadeite's family apparently opted to live _very _traditionally, and they all removed their shoes. Usagi was now several inches shorter without the impractical heels as they pressed onward into the house.

He fought the urge to pull her into his arms as a measure of safety when they stepped into, what appeared to be, a modestly sized tea room. Red pine supporting pillars and lintels opposite a small alcove, a simple hanging scroll pinned to the wall beside a lone, partially opened window.

Jadeite gestured to a tea mat, inviting Usagi to sit, and he couldn't help the panic coursing through him as she complied, gracefully lowering herself onto the mat, curling her legs beneath her and primly adjusting her dress on her lap.

She appeared completely unconcerned, as her fingers fiddled with a seam on her dress, but he couldn't help but scan the occupants of the room.

It didn't go unnoticed by him the way that the men who'd confiscated their weapons were now suddenly blocking their only exit, and he stepped closer to Usagi, his heart pounding as his eyes narrowed onto Jadeite's face that bore the same hardened expression he'd worn for a brief moment outside.

He knew that he was right when Jadeites lips curled into a hatred-filled smile of victory as he held his hand out to his men. _Fuck. _This was bad.

The only other way to leave this room was through that window, and he'd have to shatter it to break through.

Bad breaths smile matched Jadeites as he stepped forward and reverently handed him Usagi's gun. Asahi and Kaito must have figured it out at the same time as he had because they rushed toward Jadeite even as he closed the gap between him and Usagi.

Usagi was still confused, and she shot him an annoyed glare over her shoulder, as Jadeite lifted the revolver, finger poised on the trigger, and pointed the barrel at Asahi and Kaito who both stopped in their tracks.

Usagi inhaled sharply, her shoulders stiffening, her expression murderous when she _finally_ realized what was happening. "Jadeite," she hissed in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

Jadeite's gaze flicked from the brute, frozen in place, onto Usagi, and he chuckled darkly, his expression practically manic. "What does it look like, oh holy spawn of the Tsukino family," he snapped, his tone dripping with an ice-cold venom.

Mamoru's adrenaline was picking up now, as his eyes frantically scanned the room. There was no way they were going to get through the line of men at the door… they might be able to manage a fight, based on the twin brutes' sheer size, but not with Jadeite holding Usagi's gun.

Usagi was still sitting on the tatami mat on the floor, frozen in disbelief, "Are you crazy?" she demanded. "Jadeite, if you do this, you're going to _die._"

He wasn't sure what he expected his former general to say. Maybe laugh callously and reveal his diabolical plan to escape like the villain in every terrible superhero movie, but Jadeite _wasn't _the villain in this game. Usagi was. And it was evident by the determined, thoroughly _resigned _look on Jadeite's face that he was well aware of that fact. More than that, he'd accepted his fate.

Usagi must have seen it too, because she slowly shook her head, even as Jadeite twisted and trained the gun down at her, the barrel aimed directly at her heart. "Why?" she demanded, and the desperation in her voice terrified him.

Jadeite's laugh echoed around them, and it was tinged with a dangerously desperate hysteria. This wasn't business for him; it was personal. "Because you killed her," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes glistening with anguish. "She didn't do anything wrong. She was _good." _His voice broke with emotion, and Mamoru swallowed around the lump of pain in his throat. He didn't want to hear this. "She was a Shinto priestess, and all she did was happen to be standing in the wrong fucking place at the wrong time."

Mamoru clenched his eyes shut for a moment, wracked with pain because he was torn between anguish for his former friend and Usagi, who was _still _everything to him, despite everything she'd done. He inhaled sharply with a sudden realization. There was a reason that the monsters had placed them in these specific roles. They wanted him to turn on Usagi. _Why?_

Usagi had yet to respond, and it infuriated Jadeite even more. "God," he gasped on a ragged breath. "You cold, heartless bitch. You don't even know who I'm talking about."

It was evident by the way Usagi pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes flashing up at Jadeite belligerently, that she, in fact, did _not _know what Jadeite was talking about.

Jadeite stepped forward, too close, and Asahi and Kaito moved closer to Usagi protectively. The general stopped, as he flicked his eyes onto the twin brutes, the fire in his gaze cooling into a look of calm contemplation. "You three," he began, and his tone had steadied. "You don't have to die for her." Mamoru frowned because Jadeite's eyes had briefly scanned over him, too. "I'll let all three of you leave. I don't have any issues with any of you, and nobody else should die because of _her," _he sneered angrily, gesturing towards the men at the door with a nod of his head. They parted, leaving an opening that would allow them to walk out of this room.

Mamoru's posture stiffened angrily, because, _fuck the monsters that had put them here. _He'd _never _give up on Usagi, no matter how many twisted, horrible things they forced her to do. He'd languish here, live with her as a hardened criminal, before he'd ever leave her.

Asahi and Kaito, though, had no such qualms, and he heard Usagi's sharp intake of breath as the brutes exchanged a quick look and nodded. They were going to accept Jadeite's offer.

Usagi fell forward angrily, her palms pressing into the mat, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulder as she glared up at them. "_Bastards," _she hissed because she'd seen the look they'd exchanged too.

Jadeite chortled as, without a look backward, the brutes slipped away, fleeing from the room. His former general's eyes fell onto him, and he raised an eyebrow in question.

Usagi's head fell forward with a whimper, her shoulders trembling, and Mamoru knew it was because she'd wrongly assumed that he would leave, too.

Mamoru held Jadeite's gaze for a second longer before he swiftly knelt down, grasped Usagi around the waist and hauled her to her feet. She gasped, startled and bewildered as he stepped in front of her small, shuddering form; shielding her from Jadeite's pointed gun.

Jadeite's face fell with disappointment, and his eyes filled with regret. "Are you sure this is what you want?" He questioned softly. "I don't really want to kill you, but I will if you don't leave right now," he promised, but Mamoru didn't falter. It wouldn't be the first time he'd died for Usagi.

He didn't say a word, only took another step backward. He felt Usagi's hands clutch at the fabric at the back of his shirt.

Jadeite sighed miserably, "You know that she's a monster, right? It's not worth it. Walk away," he pleaded as he cocked the gun.

He only had seconds now to figure out how he was going to get them out of this. A glint of sunshine on the pane of the partially opened window just behind Jadeite caught his eye, and he knew what he was going to do. It was stupid, and it might not work. He had no idea what the hell was on the other side of that window, and, if it did work, it was going to hurt like hell.

Either way, he was going to die if he just stood here, anyway. So, he took a deep breath in preparation and met Jadeites eyes with a determined look of his own. "She's worth it," he exclaimed with conviction, and in one swift movement, he twisted around to face Usagi, whose eyes were wide and filled with terror, wrapped one arm around her waist as the other one pressed along her back, his hand tucking her head beneath his chin as he propelled them backward.

Just like he'd hoped, it caught Jadeite off guard as they collided into him, and he was _extremely _grateful that he hadn't accidentally fired his gun as he clutched onto Usagi more tightly, and thrust his shoulder into the window.

Several things could have happened. There was a possibility that the window pane was too thick and, like an idiot, he could have hit it with a dull thud only managing to knock himself out. Luckily, though, this whole thing was exactly like a stupid action movie. Just like he'd _hoped_ the glass shattered and he clenched his eyes shut, sucked in a breath of air as he curled around Usagi in an attempt to protect her from the shards of glass he could feel cutting into the skin of his arms and the back of his neck.

The fall from the window, thankfully, was not a high one, though it knocked the wind out of him and sent stars dancing at the edges of his blurred vision when his back hit the dirt ground with a dull, aching thud. Usagi's full body weight landed on top of him, pressing the air from his lungs.

He groaned, craning his neck sideways where he noted that the house happened to sit on the edge of a sprawling hillside that dipped low, sloping steeply into the dense, thick foliage of wild camellias and bamboo fronds below. The sound of gunshots ringing above him, and the sharply uttered expletives from Jadeite and his men snapped him out of his pained daze, and without a second thought, he curled his arms around Usagi, took a deep breath, dug his heels into the ground and propelled them sideways, forcibly rolling them over the edge.

They were a mass of tangled limbs, blonde hair and mutual groans of pain as they twisted, bumped and flailed down the rough terrain. When they finally stopped rolling, he grunted as he fell onto his back with a final jarring thump. Usagi's elbow connected painfully in his ribs, and he bit his tongue as the crown of her head smashed into the bottom of his chin as she landed, with a whimpered moan, squarely on top of him.

He took a moment to catch his breath, their breathing labored, chests heaving, his whole body aching, though it was dulled from the adrenaline that still coursed through his veins. He didn't have much time to take stock of his or Usagi's injuries though, because the muffled shouts from where they'd just fallen indicated that they were being pursued, and if they didn't get out of there, they were going to lose their head start.

With another burst of adrenaline and strength, he turned them onto their sides, then vaulted onto his feet, pulling Usagi up with him. He heard her sharp intake of ragged breath that hissed through her teeth at the movement, and for a second, he swayed dizzily, too.

His eyes met hers and, dear god, she was a hot mess. She definitely looked the way he felt, her hair a tangled mass falling over her shoulders, half of it still clumped into the clip at the nape of her neck, curled tendrils sticking to her face that was cut in several places, the shadow of a bruise visible on her left cheekbone. Her dress, previously a pristine white masterpiece, was torn, dirty, blood and dirt smeared on the skirt.

What really made his breath catch in his throat, though, was the wide, doe-eyed look of vulnerability glistening in her eyes. "Come on," he whispered hoarsely, grasped her wrist and pulled her into the snarled, thickening branches of cypress trees.

He wasn't sure how long they ran, his fingers curled around her wrist, as he tugged, yanked and maneuvered her through what seemed to be a never-ending maze of widening boughed pines, thickening shrubbery and a vast, and endless forest of maple and pine trees.

They were both barefoot, and the twigs, jagged rocks and other forest debris was definitely beginning to take its toll on the soles of his feet, so he imagined that Usagi was also feeling the pain, too. She didn't complain though, and she pressed onward with him until, finally, his muscles seized, screaming painfully in protest, and his lungs felt like they were expelling molten lava rather than air, and he couldn't go any further.

Usagi had reached her limit at the same time as him, and she collapsed to her knees, heaving, her breath ragged, in the middle of a clearing. He fell down beside her. "Usako," he gasped through his teeth that were gritted in pain. "Just a bit more, okay?" he pleaded softly.

She was on her knees, leaning back on her haunches, her palms pressed into the dirt in front of her, as she craned her neck sideways, to meet his gaze. Tears were trailing through the dirt and blood smeared on her cheeks.

She shook her head. "I can't," she croaked, her chest rapidly rising and falling with each labored breath.

He leaned towards her, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smirk. "Yes, you can," he reassured vehemently. "You can do anything."

There was enough conviction in his words that she nodded with determination. She whimpered as she pulled herself to her feet. The muscles in his legs twitched, the tendons popping with pain, but he followed suit, and wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her as they slowly limped out of the clearing before collapsing at the base of a particularly wide oak tree; safely hidden in the density of some camellia bushes.

He leaned his head back against the rough bark, clenched his eyes shut and focused on slowing his breathing, while still keeping an ear out for any indication that they'd been tracked this far.

When he could finally catch his breath, and it didn't feel like his heart was going to burst through his chest, he opened his eyes and turned towards Usagi. She'd curled her arms around her bare, scraped legs that she tucked into her chest. Her head buried in her knees; blonde hair rippling around her like a protective curtain long enough to sweep along the ground.

He exhaled slowly, the cold air curling around his lips. "Usako," he began, his tone crisp. "Do you know if there's anything nearby?" He was very aware of their current predicament, now. Shoeless, weaponless, and phoneless. Meaning they were utterly defenseless in the middle of nowhere.

Which did not really bode well because the mist had thickened around them, which, he supposed, was great to make sure they stayed hidden, but everything was damp, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was very aware of the cold that was seeping through his torn clothing.

So was Usagi, too, because she shivered as she lifted her head, her misery-filled eyes locking onto his. "The closest place is Kinkakuji temple, and it's at least six miles away," she responded blandly, her tone filled with despondency. "And that's if we make our way back to the road. If we stay in the forest, it's further."

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers hit a particularly tender spot on his scalp. Things were indeed looking grim. "How long before you can walk again?" he questioned, not looking forward to standing back up himself.

She grimaced, her nose wrinkling adorably at the thought. "I don't know," she admitted miserably.

Mamoru nodded with understanding. "Okay," he conceded quietly. "We'll stay here for a little bit, catch our breath, and then we'll make our way to the temple." He'd been there once or twice in the real world, and it was a popular tourist location. There was bound to be someone there with a phone.

Usagi nodded, and then it fell silent between them. The only sounds were the leaves from the trees whistling, the creaking of the boughs moving in the wind and the occasional bird chirping.

Everything seemed to slow down, and it felt like he finally had a moment to process everything that had just happened in Jadeite's manor. The implications of how badly the cords of this ruthless, cold-hearted character had been woven in the brightly lit ribbons of his Usako twisted his heart in his chest.

He knew that ultimately, it didn't matter. Even if _this _was _the _nightmare. The one that he failed to save her, and she continued down this path of pain and cruelty. He'd still stay, and he would always love her until his very last breath left his body. He hoped that it didn't come to that, though, and he wondered…

"Did you do it, Usagi?" he questioned softly and kept his gaze firmly fixed on a partially broken flower in the ground in front of him. "Did you kill the priestess?"

She didn't say anything right away, so he was reasonably certain that she wasn't going to respond, and she had no way of knowing that the priestess was Rei, anyway. Still, he wanted to know what he was dealing with. Could he bring her back from this?

Finally, she shifted beside him, and he held his breath when she cleared her throat to answer. "I don't know, Mamoru."

He did turn towards her, then, his eyes flashing angrily as he locked his gaze onto her face. "You don't know?" he demanded and that answer, more than anything, broke his heart. "Have you killed so many people, _innocent people_, that you don't _remember _her?"

His tone was harsh and condemning. This wasn't Usagi. _This wasn't her._

Her expression darkened and the hardened contours that he'd become accustomed to in the past couple of days reappeared as she boldly faced him. "How dare you judge me!" She snapped, her eyes filled with rage, "You have no idea what I've had to _do. _The things I've had to give up to survive," she hissed, and her arms trembled, and her lower lip quivered. "Do you think I was some spoiled little rich kid that was handed a wealthy family dynasty on a fucking _silver platter_?"

Her eyes were wild with a mixture of sorrow and rage now, and he wasn't sure if it was because she was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but either way, it was what he wanted. To break open the hardened shell encased around her heart.

He didn't say a word, and his silence spurred her to continue. "Do you think that I wanted to be this way?" She whispered, the chords of her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. "Trust me. It was either kill or be killed, Mamoru. I survived and built something from _nothing._"

He laughed humorlessly and shook his head in disbelief. "What did you build, Usagi?" he scoffed. "I can tell you exactly what _I see _when I look at the person you claim that you needed to become," he exclaimed angrily, and her eyes widened, lips parted in shock as he leaned towards her. "I see an empire built purely out of fear. There is not a single person that is loyal to you, Usagi. They'd throw you to the wolves before risking anything for you. Look at Asahi and Kaito," his tone was ragged, filled with churlish desperation. "Is that what you want? A ton of blood money, surrounded by people who _hate _you?"

It was harsh, though not nearly as savage as the things she'd done. But, damn, it was effective, because her eyes welled with tears, and she visibly swallowed, before briskly averting her gaze.

He took a deep breath, his heart aching because of the painful way this nightmare had been crafted to torture them, when she spoke again. "I can walk now," she whispered. "I want to go home."

His heart clenched at the word 'home' because this wasn't _home. _It wasn't where she belonged, and he blinked back his own tears, swallowed, and wordlessly moved to stand. His legs practically screeched in protest, still not fully recovered, as he held his hand out to help her up.

For a second, he thought she wasn't going to take it, but, gaze still averted, she grasped his wrist and leveraged it to stand. She sucked in a pained breath, and he barely grasped her waist in time to keep her from falling.

Her arm instinctively curled around his neck, and her fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

She nodded, pulling away, wobbling and wincing as she steadied herself. "I'm fine," she replied. "My legs just hurt."

He nodded, through his gaze swept the length of her to make sure there wasn't any horribly visible wound that he'd missed. She wrapped her arms around her midsection, and she twisted away from him, slowly making her way out of the brush and back into the clearing.

With a sigh of resignation, he followed her, and they began to trek slowly through the forest towards what he assumed was the temple.

They were both in pretty rough condition; so it took most of their concentration to just focus on putting one step in front of the other. So he wasn't concerned that they'd spent the past forty minutes trekking in silence.

He was surprised, though, that she was the first one to break the silence. "Why did _you _stay, Mamoru?" She'd whispered it; a breathy question filled with a raw vulnerability that had him glancing at her to study her profile before he answered.

Her expression was stoic as she stared ahead, but the sorrow that was etched into her movements and the slump of her shoulders had his heart racing with hope.

He knew what she was asking. She wanted to know why he hadn't left with Kaito and Asahi when given a chance. He wanted to tell her the truth. It was because he loved her. Even this version of her. Instead, he smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe I see what you could be, instead of what you think you have to be, Usako."

She frowned, mulling over his response, before laughing drily in disbelief. "And, what do you think I could be, Mamoru?" She demanded, her tone tinged with sarcasm, her shoulders stiffening defensively.

He smiled wryly, "Oh, I don't know," he murmured. "What about a warrior of justice and love?" It was meant to be a joke. Truly, it was. But, he choked on the words, because he'd give anything to have his bright, beautiful Moon Senshi fall clumsily into his arms right now.

She choked on a laugh, "You're not serious?" She sputtered in disbelief.

His smile was wistful, now, and he shrugged again. "No, I guess I'm not," he replied, still steadily moving towards their intended destination. "You can be good, though, Usagi. There is so much beauty inside of you." He knew that because he knew her, of course. But Usagi stumbled, halting, frozen in her tracks at his words.

He turned towards her, brow raised, and she shook her head. Her eyes were wide and filled with confusion. "How could you possibly know that there is anything beautiful inside of me? You barely know me, Mamoru," she whispered hoarsely, though his heart skipped a beat because there was a hope tinged in there too. Something he hadn't heard since waking up here.

His responding smile was tender this time as he studied her face, carefully considering his next words. "Do _you _think that there is beauty inside of you, Usako?" He probed, and, once again, his question startled her.

He watched as a vast array of facial expressions crossed her face, as the nightmare version of Usagi had never been forced to face herself or the things she'd done before. And, just like he knew it would, the bright shining cords of light that belonged to _his _Usagi won, and her eyes welled with tears at the horrifying self-realization of who she was.

She swallowed, her eyes welling with tears, as she shook her head. "No," she replied miserably. "There is nothing worth saving inside of me."

He inhaled sharply, and just because he couldn't stand it any longer, and the desolate misery in her voice broke his heart, he lifted his hand and gently caressed the side of her face. "You're wrong, Usako."

He stepped towards her, closing the gap between them, and the breath hitched in his throat as she curled her fingers into the fabric at the front of his shirt, tilting her chin upwards, lips parted, eyes wide and filled with anticipation as he lifted his arms and gently cradled her face in his hands. The pads of his thumb tenderly swiping over the bruise on her cheekbone.

His lips were mere inches away from pressing onto hers, their breath weaving hotly in between them when a piercing cry of rage resonated loudly through the silence. "Usagi!"

They both twisted towards the source of the sound, and he was startled to realize that they'd made it to the road. The realization was short-lived though because barreling towards them with a fierce rage contorted darkly onto his face was Kunzite.

He opened his mouth to speak but didn't get the chance. Kunzite raised his gun and violently smashed the butt of the handle onto the base of his skull. He promptly crumpled to the ground, and the last thing he heard before everything went black was Usagi's cry of horrified dismay.

**oOo**

He was getting used to waking up with a dull ache throbbing in his head, but _this_ was a whole different level of headache. The sharp stabbing sensation that coursed through the back of his skull when he opened his eyes elicited a feral groan that resonated painfully loud around him. _Damn. _Was he dead? He definitely felt like death, and it took a moment, with images of Kunzites' murderous expression popping into the forefront of his mind, before he managed to open his eyes again.

He was back in the mansion; that much was evident by the familiar, neutrally painted walls that he recognized from the plain room that he'd been assigned to.

He blinked, grimacing as he propped himself up onto his elbows, then his brows furrowed into a confused frown. It looked like the room that Makoto had shown him to yesterday, but it wasn't. The layout was slightly different. Not to mention that he was currently laying on the thick, plush surface of a mattress resting on a twin-bed frame rather than the less than comfortable tatami mat he'd been assigned to the night before.

The room was dim, the lights off, and it was only the waning daylight peeking through the coarse brown shutters of the lone window in the bedroom. It barely lit up the room, casting shadows against the walls.

With less difficulty than he expected, though every limb in his body was still throbbing, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing when the muscles in his thighs screeched in protest and ran his fingers through his hair.

He noted then that, not only was he bare-chested, but his arms and torso were bandaged, presumably from the cuts and scrapes courtesy of the sharp glass from the window that he'd barreled through or the jagged rocks that had torn through his clothing when he'd rolled himself down the hillside with Usagi tucked in his arms.

The thought of Usagi elicited another sigh, this one pained and exhausted as he propped his elbows onto his knees and buried his head in his hands. He'd been getting somewhere. He was sure of it, and if not for Kunzite's interruption, he would have… what? _Kissed her again?_ Magically pulled the webbed, implanted, cords of the cruel and vile gangster out of her with just his lips?

He choked back a bark of pained, self-deprecating laughter; when had the nightmares _ever _been that easy?

He was finding this one particularly tricky. Although, the fact that he was in a room, his wounds professionally treated was a good sign. He was wondering where Usagi was, or if she was okay when the door to his room slid open. The sound of the wood scraping across the floor was _unimaginably _loud.

He ignored the pain in his body and twisted his torso around to face the door. It was Makoto that stepped over the threshold, her face pale and her expression just as grim as it had been the last time he'd seen it.

She froze mid-stride when her gaze fell onto him, and visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank God," she breathed, relieved as she shut the door behind her.

He grinned ruefully with an apologetic shrug. "I'd say that it looks worse than it feels, but I'd be lying," he admitted wryly.

Makoto rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and exhaled with a sigh of exasperation. "Just out of curiosity, what happens if you die?" She snapped harshly, her tone pained and laced with worry. "Does that mean I have to get her to fall in love with _me_," she demanded sarcastically, "or am I stuck in this hell hole of a life with friends who've been brainwashed worse than that time you were brainwashed by Beryl?"

She frowned, lost in thought, as she tapped a slender finger against her lips in contemplation. "Hmm… or that time with Dark lady. Then, actually, there was Nehelenia…" she trailed off at the scowl on his face.

If you put it like _that_, it did _seem_ like a lot...

Makoto raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit ironic that you're the only one that _isn't _under some kind of spell," she murmured, almost as if wondering a thought out loud. "You get brainwashed _quite _a bit, actually. If you think about it—"

He lifted his hands in surrender, interrupting her through gritted teeth. "Point taken, Makoto!" He snapped and shook his head in annoyance, the sharp movement slightly painful. That was the last thing he wanted to be reminded of right now.

Makoto rolled her eyes, then waved her hand dismissively. "Regardless, what _does _happen if you die in here? Because, I'm not going to lie here, Mamoru," she admitted sharply. "That was a terrifying couple of hours."

Mamoru shifted on the bed, wincing with the movement as he stretched out his arm, testing its strength. Other than overall aching, some bandaged superficial wounds, and the headache —courtesy of Kunzite— he'd managed to survive that ordeal relatively unscathed.

"I don't know, Makoto," he murmured with a frown. "Guess I'll have to make sure we don't find out." He flexed his fingers tentatively before lifting his eyes back up to the brunette. "What happened to, Usagi? Is she okay?"

Makoto's expression hardened, and her shoulders visibly tensed, which made his heart drop into the pit of his stomach in disappointment.

Makoto swallowed, shifted her weight from one foot to the other before shrugging with forced nonchalance. "She's fine. All things considered," she began, her tone hard and unyielding. "Kunzite took care of all of those who followed Akiyama-san," her eyes darkened. "Which means that they're all dead. They were a part of the Yakuza's Aizu Kotetsu-kai. Which is a smaller group, but they were supposedly allied with the Tsukino's."

Mamoru's heart twisted painfully in his chest at the thought of a broken-hearted Jadeite, staring down the barrel of a gun, his eyes haunted and filled with hatred for Usagi. _It wasn't her fault. _But, it hadn't been his, either.

Makoto's eyes were filled with cold apprehension as she paused, swallowed, before continuing. "I've been tasked with searching out and finding Kaito and Asahi," she stated coldly. "Apparently I'm a skilled tracker and an equally skilled murderer."

Mamoru inhaled sharply, "Who ordered that?" He already knew the answer before it spilled from Makoto's lips. There was no way that one small interaction in the middle of the woods would undo all the damage the monsters had done to Usagi's psyche.

It was still unbearably disappointing to hear, though. "Kumicho Tsukino ordered it, of course," Makoto replied sardonically, a humorless half-smirk on her lips. "Who else?"

Mamoru cursed, grinding his fist into the mattress in frustration. Had he made any kind of impact? He needed to _see _her.

"You must have done something right, though, Mamoru," Makoto exclaimed. "Looks like you've moved up in the ranks, Kyōdai Chiba." She laughed drily, and Mamoru hated to see Makoto like this. "She sent me to see if you were well enough to join the sordid affair they call dinner."

Mamoru stood then, infinitely relieved that he was wearing pants as he tested the weight on his limbs, found that the dull ache in his legs was manageable, and closed the gap between him and Makoto.

She didn't move as he approached, her expression was cold, tired, and slightly wary. "Makoto," he began softly, his expression sympathetic. "I know that this sucks, but I've made some progress, and I promise you that I will get us out of here."

Her expression didn't soften, but there was a flash of hope in her eyes. "I know, Mamoru," she responded brokenly. "It's just tough to see her like this, you know?" She choked on her words, and his heart flipped because he _definitely_ knew. "If there is any Usagi left in there, she'd _hate _that she was doing these things. It would kill her if she knew, Mamoru."

He nodded in agreement and opted not to tell Makoto about Rei. He'd get them out of here before she found out. Now that he knew that he could appeal to Usagi's humanity, that was precisely what he intended to do. She wasn't as cold and ruthless as she'd have everyone believe.

Makoto exhaled slowly and stepped back towards the door. "Look, you better get dressed and get to the dining hall. I have to head out and find these traitors, and I'm kind of hoping that you get us out of here before I do."

He nodded as she twisted the handle on the door. Dread began to pool uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach as he watched her go. "Oh, Mamoru," she whispered, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Watch out for Kunzite. He's out for blood, and he likes Usagi this way," she warned before twisting around, and striding through the door, her shoulders squared and confident like the ruthless fighter she was being forced to play.

He tried not to let the hopelessness seep in as his eyes remained fixed on the empty doorway where she'd just disappeared. He hoped that when this was over when they'd erased this nightmarish world from existence, that Makoto's memories of this nightmare would be erased, too.

**oOo**

Mamoru wished that he'd paid more attention when Asahi had guided him through the endless, similar looking halls that all seemed to twist and bend the same way. How was it even possible that this house was that big? And, why had he suddenly been granted the privilege of roaming through it on his own?

Not that he was _complaining, _or anything. He'd made headway in that aspect of this world at least, which would make getting around undetected much easier without the constant, annoyingly watchful eyes of the twin Brutes that had been assigned to him. The reminder that Asahi and Kaito had been branded traitors and were seemingly being hunted by Makoto, no less, instantly sobered him just as he rounded the corner towards what he now recognized as the hall where the dining room was located.

He'd run through different scenarios in his mind; what he would say and do the next time he faced Usagi. He felt like he was relatively prepared to see her, as he was certain that he'd made at least some sort of difference in her cold disposition. _There was no way she'd been faking that emotion in the woods. _He should have known that things never tended to go his way, though, and he halted in his tracks as she rounded the corner at the end of the hall.

It was as if nothing had happened; dressed in another sleek black, tightly-cinched, low-cut, layered chiffon dress. _Damn. _Despite himself and his resolve to save his pure-hearted, pink-cheeked, naively innocent Moon Princess. He couldn't help but be affected by her dressed like a seductive hardened criminal.

There were simply no words to describe the way his pulse quickened at the sight of her like this. Though he could do without the ruthlessness, she was still _stunning_; a tall, perfectly sculpted masterpiece of perfection moving gracefully across the floor in another pair of stilettos. If not for the shadow of a bruise on her face, and the discreetly covered bandage peeking out from beneath an intricate sleeve of lace, you'd never know that she'd spent any time barefoot, barreling through the debris of the forest with him.

She was alone; though, given what had happened to her, he was sure that wouldn't last long. He took a deep, determined breath, and ignored the lingering pain in his legs as he widened his strides to close the gap between them.

He didn't take his eyes off of her face as he approached, and with every step, his heart fell a little further. There was nothing in her eyes, but a hardened, shrewd stare of cool curiosity and the hint of a smirk curled onto blood-red lips. He wanted to reach out and wipe the gaudy lipstick away.

He stopped in front of her, brow furrowed, suddenly feeling unsure, "Usako—"

She scowled and lifted a delicate hand, a sharp flick of her wrist, to interrupt him. "You've proven yourself valuable, Chiba," she snapped steadily, her voice that bone-chilling trill that made his blood run cold. "As compensation for your _loyalty, _I am happy to have you as a part of the Kyodai." He was sure that the frustration was evident on his face when she stepped towards him, her smirk widening as she tilted her head to peer up at him coldly. "But, if you _ever _address me by anything other than Kumicho Tsukino, or mention anything that transpired in those woods, I'll make good on my promise to put a bullet in your brain."

It was a hissed demand with a pop of her lips, and his stomach turned as his heart clenched painfully in his chest. _He hadn't made a difference_. It was a crushing realization that ripped him apart. She was _just _as cruel and unreachable _as ever_. He wanted to hit something. Or, scream with rage while forcibly shaking the viciousness _out of her._ Because this _fucking _sucked, and he wanted _his _Usagi back. He'd made a promise to Makoto and, more than anything, she was his goddamn reason for breathing, and he _needed_ to save her.

Instead, he snapped his mouth shut, jaw clenched and nodded curtly. _What the hell was he going to do now?_ There had to be a way to get through to her. There was _always _a way.

He could feel the hopelessness beginning to seep through, still frozen in front of her when a sharply uttered command pulled him from his thoughts.

"Usagi!"

The silver-haired General wore a murderous expression as he stepped through the dragon etched doorway and into the hall. There was a fleeting flash of exasperation on Usagi's face as she stepped back until she was standing beside her brother.

The corners of her lips curled up into a reassuring smile as she laid a delicate hand on his arm. "There's no need to shout, brother," she murmured softly. "I was just about to come in."

It was apparent that Usagi was trying to appease her hot-headed sibling that stood tall, his muscles coiled tensely as if in preparation to fight, his icy-blue stare fixed angrily on Mamoru's face. Not for the first time since the nightmares had begun, Mamoru was tempted to wipe Kunzite's callous expression away with his fist.

Instead, he fought against the urge, his expression impassive as he steadily kept eye contact with the general that seemingly expected him to back down. Which, Mamoru did _not _intend to do.

"We've been waiting for you, Usa," Kunzite practically growled. "I'm not sure why you're wasting your time speaking to the _help," _he sneered spitefully.

Mamoru raised a brow in amusement, which, as expected, infuriated the general even more. Unsurprisingly, as Kunzite was pretty much unhinged, the general growled, a feral sound, as he reached for the gun on his hip. Did they need to carry those things everywhere?

Usagi tsked soothingly, effectively calming him with a smile and squeeze of her hand on his wrist. "_The help_ that _did _save my life, Kunz," she pointed out gently, and Mamoru watched in amazement as it cooled the Generals blazing temper.

His expression had settled into a petulant scowl as he flicked his gaze from Usagi back onto Mamoru. "I don't trust him, Usa," he spat, and Mamoru was getting really tired of being spoken about as if he weren't standing _right here._

Usagi laughed, a low, breathy sound that was sultry, un-Usagi like, but sent shudders down his spine all the same. "Well, I _do," _she emphasized gently, and Mamoru's breath hitched hopefully in his throat. "Besides," she continued with a scornful smile he couldn't stand to see. "I was just putting him back in his place."

He swallowed with barely restrained disgust, hopes dashed, throat constricted angrily as Kunzite nodded, seemingly appeased, as he possessively clasped Usagi's wrist and pulled her through the doorway into the brightly lit dining room; leaving him no choice but to follow desolately behind them.

The dining room was relatively full; the long, cherry wood varnished table covered with an array of dishes, the delicious aroma making his mouth water. There were approximately six other men seated in the room and, like Asahi and Kaito, they were bruting, sullen-faced, and, unsurprisingly, armed with guns.

There were a couple of exceptions; women, uniformed, flitting in and out of the room. Presumably serving dinner, and Hinata, the man Usagi had punished the day before, standing along the wall with another man that he'd never seen.

The conversation in the room was loud and boisterous before Usagi, and Kunzite walked in. Then, it was as if their very presence sucked the sound from the room, replacing it with the chilled chords of fear instead. Usagi was the picture of power as she made her way around the table, and when her gaze coolly swept over the table's occupants, the grown, muscled men, literally sunk in their seats. Their eyes respectfully averted. Hinata, Mamoru noted, was gaunt, and more terrified than the rest.

He wasn't sure what the etiquette of a kyodai —_whatever the hell that was supposed to be—_ entailed. So, he opted to stay standing, his eyes glued to Usagi's lithe form as she moved to sit at the head of the table.

Her eyes met his for a moment, and she arched a golden brow, tilting her head slightly towards an empty chair beside brute number… seven? Eight? He'd never keep them all straight in his head, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he stepped forward, and lowered himself into the seat she'd indicated.

From this angle, he had a perfect view of Usagi, and, while the others forcibly focused their eyes on anything _but _her, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the contours of her face. The slight curve of her neck, the soft angled edges of her cheekbone...

This nightmare was torture.

"At ease, gentlemen," Kunzite exclaimed, his tone laced with amusement. "Jadeite and the gutter rats that followed him are dead, and my beautiful sister, Kumicho Tsukino, is home, safe and sound," Kunzite cheered, though there was a razor-sharp edge to his words that made Mamoru's fingers curl into fists under the table. "Eat! Laugh! Celebrate!" He roared boisterously, and the men around him cheered.

They'd been given permission to eat, and Mamoru's stomach churned because he felt like he was surrounded by a pack of cruel and savage animals that filled their plates, and spoke lightly about how they'd violently, and slowly ended Jadeite's life.

Kunzite, he noted, liked to talk, and he could barely manage to keep the disgust from showing on his face as he listened to the banter around him. This world and everything about it made him sick.

He couldn't manage to muster up an appetite and the idea that Usagi might be trapped here, like this, doing these things forever, dimmed the hope that he'd been holding onto so tightly up until this moment. He'd been moving forward in this nightmare with the firm and unwavering belief that he could appeal to the most beautiful staples of Usagi's personality as he knew it. It had worked in every horrible world so far. But, what if it didn't work here because the ultimate goal of all of this was to destroy everything good about her?

His heart involuntarily quickened at the painful thought, and his breath hitched in his throat because the idea that she was really _gone_ tore him up inside.

He couldn't hear what Kunzite and the others were saying anymore. The other Kyodai had attempted to engage him in conversation several times. Though, they'd seemingly given up when he didn't reciprocate. He couldn't manage words, even if he tried; his eyes were fixed firmly on Usagi.

She'd been mostly silent, her expression painfully unreadable as she absentmindedly pushed the food around on her plate, yet _another _thing that was unlike his Usako.

He wondered how he was going to adjust to life with her like this. Though it was painful to consider, there was no question about it. He was going to stay with her, _regardless _of the outcome.

He was lost in thought, wistfully studying her profile, when she unexpectedly looked up and craned her neck to the side. His brows drew together into a puzzled frown because she was focused, suddenly, on something across the room.

She didn't realize that he was watching her, so his breath caught in his throat, and the faint wisps of hope roared back to life when a softened expression that was more reminiscent of _his_ Usagi, and less _Kumicho Tsukino_, fell onto her face.

Her brow creased slightly into a small, uncertain frown, and she tilted her head to the side; her lower lip poised between her teeth as she appeared to be considering something. He followed her gaze, and his heart stopped, breath hitched in nervous anticipation when he realized she was watching Hinata.

The gaunt-faced, trembling advisor, eyes downcast sheepishly, stood with a couple of other outcasted men along the wall on the other side of the table. This moment felt like it was one of monumental importance, and Mamoru's gaze snapped back to Usagi whose eyes briefly swept over him.

_It was there again_. The vulnerability that he was sure he'd imagined and his fisted hands shook underneath the table when she spoke.

"Hinata." The dominant chords of her tone effectively stopped the conversation in the room. Even Kunzite frowned as he glanced over at his sister with curiosity shining in his eyes. Hinata, on the other hand, looked terrified; wide-eyed, face pale and trembling, just like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. It was painful to see someone cower like that in front of her.

It must have been painful for Usagi, too, because her face flashed with remorse for just a split second. It was enough to make Mamoru want to leap from his seat, a shouted exclamation of pure elated _victory _on his lips. There was no way he'd imagined that look this time, and he waited with bated breath to see what she was going to do.

Usagi cleared her throat, tilted her chin up imperiously and waved towards an empty seat at the end of the table. "Sit," she demanded, though there was a softened tone underlying the sharpness of her voice. "I'd like for you to eat."

Hinata shook his head slowly in disbelief, his eyes wildly flicking from her to Kunzite, whose expression had turned from mild curiosity to darkened, anger-tinged, confusion. "Usagi," Kunzite laughed. "You can't be _serious."_

Usagi's eyes narrowed coolly as she gracefully twisted her torso to meet Kunzite's eyes. "Have you ever known me to say something jokingly, brother?" She challenged, her tone steady, just above a whisper.

You could hear a pin drop, the silence in the room deafening and filled with tension as all of its occupants were frozen as they watched the scene unfold, varying expressions of confusion, horror, and surprise written on their faces. None were as startled as Kunzite though, who was definitely not used to being challenged by his sister. He seemed to consider his options for a moment, and Mamoru could see him mulling over the possibilities and the outcomes from what he would say next.

He opted to smile, force a laugh, and leaned back in his chair with a dismissive wave. "Of course not, beautiful sister," he responded with a light airiness that was so transparently forced. Mamoru knew he wasn't the only one to see through it. "By all means, Hinata," Kunzite's ice blue eyes fell onto the advisor, "eat."

Kunzite's jaw was clenched tightly, and all of the eyes in the room fell onto Hinata who was practically trembling now, his gaze darting wildly between Usagi and Kunzite.

He wisely made the decision to listen to Usagi, as he hesitantly stepped towards the table, bowed respectively, before seating himself. "Thank you, Kumicho Tsukino," he murmured reverently, as he gratefully leaned forward to slowly fill his plate.

Usagi nodded in response, straightening in her seat. "In the future, please don't be… _afraid _to advise me. I'll heed your words more carefully next time."

He didn't miss the outburst of whispers and gasps that broke out across the room. This seemed to be enough for Kunzite, who laughed loudly. "Well, then!" He chortled, though it was tinged with fury. "Enough of the silence! Celebrate!"

It was an order, and the conversation around the room resumed, though the atmosphere was filled with more tension than it had been before.

Mamoru's heart was racing, because there was _no way _that Usagi had chosen that specific word, subtly telling Hinata that she didn't want him to be _afraid_ if the things he'd said in the woods hadn't affected her.

His gaze met hers, and he decided that he wanted to take a chance. _He needed to know. _So, instead of carefully guarding his expression, his eyes filled with tenderness and his lips curled up into a small, approving smile.

It was just a momentary wisp that was fleeting, but a pink blush swept across her cheeks and, for just a moment, she returned his smile before her expression became shuttered once again and she turned back to her plate.

Mamoru's smile only faded when he felt another pair of eyes trained on him, and he turned to meet Kunzite's gaze. He inwardly grimaced, because if looks could kill, he'd be dead.

**oOo**


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

He didn't get a chance to see Usagi again after dinner. She'd swept from the room without even glancing his way, eager to escape the Kyodai's prying eyes and silent questions. Because it was _very _clear that Usagi's leniency was out of character. For them, anyway.

His eyes had still lingered on her retreating form with regret, and he'd longed to follow her out of the room; afraid to lose his momentum. That was ridiculous, of course, and he'd erred on the side of caution; forcibly remaining seated when she'd left. He wasn't sure what he would have said to her anyway, especially with Kunzite hot on her heels, hovering protectively with a menacing stare over his shoulder before he exited behind her.

The Kyodai practically pounced on him the moment the Tsukino's left the room, barraging him with questions; about Asahi, Kaito, and what had it been like to flee into the woods with Kumicho Tsukino?

He'd responded with tightly pressed lips, an icy stare, and one-worded answers before he'd excused himself and retreated back into the room that he supposed was now his. The evening had stretched out before him, promising to be an anxiety-ridden void of anticipation, but he was uninterested in exploring the grounds or venturing anywhere that Usagi wasn't.

Luckily, sleep didn't evade him, and he drifted off, feeling a little more hopeful while formulating a plan that would more than likely backfire.

Just like it usually did in the dream world, it felt like he'd only been asleep for a moment before he was being pulled awake by a sharp jab in his shoulder. This time when he opened his eyes, though, it was Makoto that was peering down at him. Emerald green hues glistening with an urgency that instantly wiped away any remnants of sleep.

He inhaled sharply, jolting up into a sitting position. His vision blurred for only a moment as all of the horrible, nightmarish events from the past couple of days firmly clicked back into place.

This world was unpredictable, and Makoto stepped back as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wasting no time in rising. "What happened?" He demanded as he stood and strode across the room to the small, bamboo dresser that he'd discarded his clothes onto the night before.

For the first time in this nightmare, Makoto averted her eyes, an embarrassed blush rising up her neck and sweeping across her face.

In the real world, before all of the things he'd seen, he probably would have been mortified to be in front of one of Usagi's Senshi in any kind of state of undress. But he was in a hurry now, eager to get them out of here, and he didn't have time to dwell on trivial things.

Makoto cleared her throat, the awkward moment passing quickly as he dressed; pulling a crumpled black t-shirt on. "Nothing happened. Or, it hasn't yet, anyway," she began with a shake of her head, her glossy, chestnut-brown ponytail whipping back and forth with the movement. "You're being summoned. It looks like a representative of Akiyama-san is here to see the Tsukino's."

Mamoru froze, brow furrowed as he met Makoto's watchful gaze. From what he'd gathered in the conversation during dinner, Akiyama-san was Jadeite's family name. Which meant that one of his family members had come here for… retribution? To plead for mercy? Either way, his stomach churned nervously. There was no way that this was going to end well.

He must have remained silent for longer than usual, lost in thought, because Makoto rolled her eyes and sighed with exasperation. "Earth to Mamoru? Did you hear me? You've been summoned by the blood-thirsty love of your life!"

The anguish-tinged edge woven into that comment snapped Mamoru out of his thoughts, and his eyes narrowed onto Makoto's face as he studied her tensed, hardened expression. "Makoto," he began tentatively, "you're still with me, right?" His question was laced with gentle concern because he could see it happening slowly; the horror of this world chipping away at her heart.

Makoto's eyes widened, and her breath hitched, her lips parted in surprise. It took a moment, and he watched her _really _consider his words. Finally, her shoulders relaxed, and she exhaled slowly, tucking a tendril of curled brown hair behind her ear. "Yes," she whispered. "Of course I'm still with you, Mamoru. I love her more than anything in this world. You _know _that I do." The fierce vehemence in her words was a relief to hear. "It's just… I'm not sure how much longer I can watch her this way. I feel so _helpless_," she choked angrily on her words, her fingers curled into fists of frustration.

Mamoru nodded, his eyes shining sympathetically. He knew that feeling well. "I know, Makoto. Trust me," he reassured with a small smile. "We're going to get her out of this."

Mollified by his conviction-filled words, she nodded, eyes guarded, arms crossed, as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I know. You _are_ making a difference," she admitted quietly. "Usagi specifically requested you, Mamoru. So, if anything, at least she trusts you."

It was a relief to hear Makoto voice it out loud, and he couldn't help the involuntary way his lips curling up into a smile. Makoto's eyes widened, then it was like he was looking at Jupiter again, as her stiffened posture eased and she rolled her eyes. The corner of her lips quirking up into a hesitant half-smirk.

With a snort of amused disbelief, she swiveled around and strode towards the door. "Don't let it go to your head, Mamoru," she warned. "We are _so _out of our depth, here."

He silently agreed as he followed her from the room, his steps in sync with hers. Makoto was quiet, gaze fixed firmly ahead of them as they walked, and he furtively studied her profile.

Usagi had saved the Senshi, in one way or another, when she'd walked into their lives. In turn, they loved her as fiercely as she loved them. Makoto, though, was like him. She'd been wading through a sea of grey, drowning in parentless, friendless isolation before Usagi had brought them together. It was probably why this world affected Makoto the most. It was almost as if the monsters had purposely crafted this role for her to test Makoto's love for Usagi.

He frowned, internally groaning in frustration. But _why?_

Makoto stopped, suddenly, and it pulled him from his thoughts. They were in a part of the manor that he hadn't been to yet. It was just as intrinsically beautiful as the rest of the house; polished floors, brightly-lit, tastefully decorated. But, that was not what caught his eye. They'd stopped in front of a traditional, paper-thin doorway that was partially opened, revealing a beautifully crafted wooden veranda. Beyond that, the curved, stone-edged lines of a vast inground pool. The sunlight glistening off of the rippled crystal blue water was almost blinding.

Mamoru raised a surprised brow, and he choked back a bark of disbelieving laughter as he glanced over at Makoto. "A pool?" He questioned incredulously; tone tinged with sarcasm. There was always a damn pool scene in B-rated action movies, and, unfortunately for him, they rarely ended well.

Makoto shrugged. "It's where we're meeting," she replied, her smile forced as she stepped out onto the veranda. "At least it's a reprieve from hunting Asahi and Kaito," she muttered under her breath.

He opened his mouth to respond because he wanted to ask her more about that, but the words disappeared like wisps of smoke, tangling on his tongue when he caught sight of Usagi standing beside the pool.

_Fuck._ She was all sloping curves, toned edges, hard and soft all at the same time, with sun-kissed skin in a two-piece strappy bikini. The taut black fabric _barely _covered her. Even the white sarong slung across the tantalizing planes of her hips was _see-through_. Leaving practically nothing to the goddamn imagination.

If that weren't enough to make his heart hammer in his chest, the blonde silken locks of her hair were left loose and rippled down her back and around her shoulders; a curtain of glistening curls that made him feel the sudden need to swallow.

She was, of course, sporting another pair of ridiculously high and impractical stiletto heels, but it added to the look, highlighting her legs. He'd seen those legs thousands of times. It wasn't like the skirt of her fuku was long by any means, so why the hell was he so affected by the sight of her in a bikini? The blood in his veins began to boil with a mixture of uncontrolled lust and the need to cover her up with something, tuck her safely into his arms, and hide her from view.

He dimly registered that she wasn't alone; Kunzite and a string of armed men surrounded her. There were also women, in various states of undress, splashing in the pool, lounging by the water. Drinks were being passed around freely, and the dull thrumming base of music being played over a surround system echoed around them. It was _exactly _like what you'd expect from a scene in a terrible action movie, and his chest tightened nervously as he shared a trepidation-filled glance with Makoto.

Usagi's expression didn't change as he approached; it remained impassive, though he was sure there a flash of relief in the china-blue pools of her eyes. "Good, you're here." Her tone was brisk, emotionless as she craned her neck to the side towards the men lined up behind her with stern looks on their faces. "Yuuti," she summoned, extending a delicate wrist her palm facing up.

One of the men, not nearly as bruting as Asahi and Kaito, but menacing all the same, stepped towards her, bowed respectively and handed her a gun.

Usagi nodded, then took a step towards him. The scent of lavender and vanilla assaulted his senses with her approach, and he used the familiar, Usagi-like smell to ground him as his eyes met her gaze. _God_, she was so tantalizingly beautiful.

The half-smirk that quirked onto her lips, along with an arched blonde eyebrow, conveyed amused confidence as she leaned forward and slowly trailed her fingers down the length of his arm.

He hoped his shudder wasn't visible, and he did his best not to show how much she affected him, as her fingers curled around his wrist. She pressed the gun into his hand, and the weapon was lighter than he'd expected, given the heavy weight of what it could do. He gripped the handle, and it was probably all in his head, but it felt like its smooth surface was burning his skin.

She must have seen something that he hadn't managed to hide in his eyes because her brow furrowed slightly, and she tilted her head to the side with curiosity, blonde hair tumbling over the silky-smooth skin of her bared shoulder with the movement. His breath hitched as he studied her face; small, pert chin tilted up towards him, stunning blue eyes searching his gaze, and though she'd clearly applied makeup, he could still see the shadow of a bruise on her cheekbone.

He resisted the urge to lift his hand and tuck her hair behind her ear when she laughed. The sound was low and throaty, and her breath warmly fanned across his face. "How strange that you don't like guns," she murmured softly, the syllables rolling off her tongue in a tantalizing lilt. "You're different from the others. Do you know where you are and what kind of life this is, Mamoru?"

Her question made his heart start racing, and he was very aware that everyone around the pool, including Kunzite and his thugs, were watching the exchange with sharp questioning eyes. He wasn't sure if the implication was a warning; the Usagi of this world was difficult to read, and he could feel the panic set in when her lips curled into a smile.

"Relax, Mamoru," she whispered on a breathy chuckle. "It's just in case something happens. It might be beneficial to be armed this time, right?" She questioned, a teasing, sweet tone laced into her words that were confusing the hell out of him.

He nodded in affirmation and opened his mouth to respond when the low, angry baritone of Kunzite's voice interrupted him.

"Enough of this, Usagi," he growled, and his expression was dark, dangerous and scowling. "I'm not sure why you felt the need to ask a new Kyodai who can barely hold a gun to this meeting," he snapped scathingly, his lips curled over his teeth in a hate-filled sneer, ice-blue eyes glaring at him angrily.

Usagi stepped back, gracefully twirling around to face her brother, an unreadable expression on her face as she steadily met his gaze. "It's very strange to me how easy it is for you to _forget _that if not for Mamoru, I would not be standing here today." Her calmly uttered statement managed to soften Kunzites expression. "It is difficult to find good help that you trust. Wouldn't you agree, Kunz?"

Kunzite did not reply, but he nodded curtly, almost apologetically, before his expression settled into a sullen stare. Usagi seemed satisfied with his response, and her gaze shifted onto Makoto, who stood stiffly beside him. "Speaking of finding _good _help, have you located Kaito and Asahi, Mako-chan?"

Makoto's jaw was clenched so tightly he was sure it was going to snap if she didn't relax. "No, not yet, Kumicho Tsukino," she replied through gritted teeth, and Mamoru inwardly winced. This was so much harder for Makoto than he'd surmised.

Kunzite let out a bark of humorless laughter. "Looks like you're getting weak, Makoto," he chortled. "Are you losing your touch, oh, fearless, Amazonian warrior?"

That jibe, _more than anything, _affected Makoto and Mamoru's heart clenched painfully in his chest at the way her face paled, her eyes widened, and her lips parted on a sharp intake of breath.

He was starting to panic now because Makoto had yet to speak, and Kunzite's amused smile was fading, eyes narrowing in confusion. Though he tried, he couldn't manage to catch Makoto's eye, so he reached out and gently squeezed her arm.

It was effective, and Makoto snapped her mouth shut, forced a laugh, and waved her hand dismissively. "I've never failed you before, Oyabun Tsukino. This is not the exception."

Kunzite was mollified with Makoto's response, and he was promptly distracted by a particularly voluptuous red-head in scraps of blue bikini material, a tray of drinks in her hand.

The tension seemed to wane as the other men accepted drinks and exchanged salacious banter that made his stomach churn when he finally took note of Usagi's expression; it was filled with a mixture of irritation and anger as her narrowed gaze flicked between him and Makoto. It was only a cursory look, and just as quickly, her expression hardened and smoothed out impassively.

His brows drew together into a confused frown as he watched her twist around. Her movements were graceful, panther-like, as she made her way around Kunzite, and lowered the rippling contoured edges of her lithe form onto a cushioned lounging chair beneath a cherry-wood pergola perched on the side of the pool.

Kunzite, who had also been watching his sister, turned back towards them, his eyes sweeping over Makoto, "Well, my pretty Amazonian warrior, why don't you have a drink? Relax those stiffened shoulders. Maybe throw on a bathing suit. Aren't you feeling warm in all of those clothes? I can help you take them off," he offered suggestively, taking a step towards Makoto who was clearly struggling to keep a neutral expression on her face.

Makoto was tough, though, and she met his gaze, a defiant look in her eyes, arms crossed, and a contrived smirk on her lips. "Don't you already have your hands full? I'm told that you were kept quite busy with someone else," she snapped, a harshly muttered statement filled with warning.

Kunzite was unaffected by Makoto's rebuff, "Ah, yes," he chuckled. "Mina is still waiting in bed for me like a good girl." Makoto tensed, cringing at the mention of Minako. Luckily, Kunzite was too full of himself to notice. "Would you like to join us?" He offered lewdly with a suggestive smile that made Mamoru's stomach turn. He _hated _the Kunzite of this world; cold-hearted, being forced to play a role whose personality was the polar opposite of the fiercely loyal general he remembered.

Makoto opened her mouth to retort hotly, and he braced himself, prepared to intervene when she was promptly interrupted by a sweetly chiming voice from behind them. "My apologies, Oyabun Tsukino." It was a slender, green-eyed girl, dressed in one of the black laced uniforms of the mansions serving girls. "I don't mean to interrupt you, but Akiyama Daigo has arrived. Should I bring him here?"

The girl's voice wavered, and she visibly trembled as Kunzite's face darkened with annoyance. "Obviously, you stupid girl," he sneered caustically.

Mamoru grit his teeth, his fingers clenched around the gun —_that he had no idea how to use_— as he forcibly averted his gaze and resisted the urge to say something in the girl's defense. He needed to remind himself, though, that this world, and the people that lived in it, except for the ones he knew, didn't matter.

The girl nodded; her cheeks red with embarrassment as she scurried back the way that she'd come. Presumably to guide Daigo onto the veranda.

He shoved the gun into the pocket of his jeans as they moved beneath the pergola with Usagi. He opted to stand close to her, watching as she moved into an upright sitting position, endlessly long legs daintily crossed, one slender arm draped across the back of the chair, the other one resting demurely in her lap, the material of her sarong bunched up at her hips.

She was so beautiful; it was almost painful to look at her, and it went against every instinct that he possessed to just stand here and let another potentially life-threatening situation happen. Though, this time, she was safely ensconced with a crew of armed, angry-looking men in her territory. Still… he subtly inched a little closer. The movement went unnoticed by everyone except for a hawk-eyed Kunzite, who was the only other person to sit, leaning back arrogantly on a sleek, resin wicker, L-shaped sofa with taupe-colored cushions. His knees spread apart as he palmed the gun he'd pulled from his pocket, a warning half-smirk on his lips.

Kunzite's gaze softened, though, when it settled onto Usagi, who was resolutely staring ahead. "Don't worry, sister," he reassured gently. "Akiyama will get _exactly _what they deserve," he promised darkly, a snake-like smile of vengeance sliding onto his face.

Usagi, he noted, said nothing, and on the outside, she was the picture of impassive perfection. Her posture was tense, though, and there was none of that smug confidence that she'd casually dismissed him with before they'd encountered Jadeite's gun, and he'd subtly pleaded with her to take a look inward at the cruelty festering inside of her. He was wondering if she was replaying that terrifying scene in her head over again when their guests arrived.

There were four of them being led by the slender brunette that had cowered in front of Kunzite only moments ago. They were unremarkable brutes; casually dressed, tattooed, hulking figures which seemed to be a Yakuza signature. The one at the front, though, stood out from the others. He was lithe, black hair slicked back, angled features in an expensive suit. There was a dangerous air about him as he halted and stopped his followers with a sharp flick of his wrist before bowing respectively.

His expression was contrite, but the icy look emanating from his eyes as they slid over Usagi was chilling. "Tsukino Usagi, I'm so glad to see that you're well," he exclaimed his tone dripping with a forced note of concern.

Mamoru's pulse quickened, adrenaline coursing through his veins, as he fixed his gaze worriedly onto Usagi.

Kunzite scoffed loudly in response to Daigo's thinly-veiled statement, but Usagi tilted her head to the side as she shrewdly studied him. Slowly, in a smooth and calculated manner, she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "Are you, Daigo?" She asked, deathly quiet, her gaze locked unblinkingly onto him. "Because I, unlike your cousin, have granted you the courtesy of coming into my home with your men, armed, with easy access to your phone. And yet, you're still standing in front of me with that _look _in your eyes."

Though there was still the sound of muffled conversations, music, and the occasional splash from the pool behind them, everyone standing under that pergola had gone completely silent. Daigo's eyes widened slightly, perhaps surprised at the way Usagi held herself. She exuded a specific aura of power that was mesmerizing, but also terrifying.

"Kumicho Tsukino," Daigo began, and the contrite tone in his voice rang a bit truer this time. "I am deeply saddened by the acts committed by my cousin against you and your family. Truly."

Kunzite leaned forward, an angry scowl contorting his features, but Usagi leaned back. Seemingly contemplating his words. "I'm not a fool, Daigo," she snapped. "I've known from the very beginning how the prestigious families of the Yakuza marginalize women. I know that every single one of you looks down your nose at the dirty, little Tsukino rat that dared to defy your standards."

Mamoru's breath caught in his throat, because, despite what she'd done as the ruthless Tumicho Tsukino, there was a strength inside of her; the same kind she exuded when standing, locked-knees, proud stance as she'd faced her enemies with fierce defiance. That was the tone laced into her words now, and though it was being misused, it was breathtaking all the same.

The confident air around Daigo was waning, and his face paled, "Kumicho Tsukino, I meant no disrespect-"

Usagi lifted a hand, flicking her wrist, promptly interrupting him. "I know why you're here, Akiyama-san, and it has nothing to do with respect," she snapped angrily, vehemently. "_You're afraid_."

The look on Daigo's face was a reflection of Usagi's words. He was _definitely _afraid, but that wasn't what caused his breath to catch in his throat, and his heart to skip a beat with hope. It was the slight hitch in Usagi's tone, the flash of self-realization and remorse that appeared briefly in her eyes as those final words had spilled from her lips.

Daigo seemed to be considering her words, and he wisely chose to concede this subtle power play to Usagi. "Tsukino-san, I'm not going to lie to you. I loved my cousin," he admitted, and his face was etched with an unfettered look of resigned sorrow.

Mamoru kept his gaze fixed on Usagi's face; breath held in anticipation for her reaction. _Please, Usako. Please still be in there._

She said nothing, lips pursed, brow furrowed in consideration, before she tilted her head forward, an invitation for him to continue.

Daigo exhaled slowly, his perfect posture slumping slightly as he raked his fingers through his hair. "Our family, as you've pointed out, has a certain modicum of … _fear _when dealing with the Tsukino's," he admitted, ignoring Kunzite's bark of amused laughter. "Which is why we never would have done anything to jeopardize our working relationship," he lifted his hands in supplication, pleading now. "Jadeite acted of his own accord. He was reckless, impulsive, and fancied himself in love with the Priestess that was killed by your family."

Mamoru's heart sank at the sound of Makoto's horrified gasp as she made the connection. His gaze met hers from across the pergola. Her face was devoid of color, eyes wide and filled with horror. Damn. _Get it together, Jupiter. _The others hadn't noticed the way Makoto was trembling with a mixture of agony and rage, but if anyone happened to glance her way…

He did his best to convey the urgent plea through his gaze, and Makoto seemed to have received the message. With a slight nod, she regained control of her emotions, though Mamoru could see through the fake façade easily.

Kunzite laughed again, this time in disbelief as he leaned forward. "Wait, this is all because of that dumb Shinto Priestess from the temple? The one that saw Usagi's face during a shipment exchange?"

Daigo's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched tightly, but he nodded sharply in affirmation.

Usagi's brows knit into a frown as she craned her neck sideways, eyes fixed onto her brother. "Kunz, you remember the priestess?" She questioned softly, and it was clear to Mamoru that she genuinely didn't remember having killed Rei.

Kunzite chuckled, smiling as if recalling a fond memory, "Yes," he began airily. "I don't know her name. She had black hair, wearing that god awful Miko outfit… Usa, you were the one to pull the trigger. I'm not surprised that you don't remember, though. You'd indulged quite a bit that evening," Kunzite was the only one that was chuckling, relaying the details of Rei's murder as if he were discussing something as casual as sports on a Sunday afternoon.

Makoto was desperately trying to stay composed with the revelation. His stomach was churning painfully at the horrifying implication that Usagi had killed one of her Senshi under the influence of a mind-altering substance, and Usagi… _God. _She was taking it worst of all.

He could have wept with relief at the look of self-loathing and horror that swept across her face. She was _still _in there, and now she was starting to feel it, too.

Daigo cleared his throat, this time addressing Kunzite, "Yes, well, regardless of Jadeite's actions, I'm here as a representative on behalf of my remaining family members in Kyoto city to plead for leniency. We're not seeking retribution. We only want to resume our previous relationship and put this entire… _ordeal _behind us," he appealed, though there was a hard edge laced into his tone that instantly put Mamoru on alert.

Though Daigo had gracefully conceded all the power to the Tsukino's, he wasn't weak, either. And he was not going down without a fight.

Kunzite's responding laughter was mocking, cold, as he slowly stood. His eyes bore into Daigo with gleeful anticipation. Mamoru's pulse quickened, and he could feel it. Something was going to happen, and Usagi was going to be in danger again.

His adrenaline picked up and, without thinking about it, he stepped protectively in front of Usagi. He only briefly saw her look of startled confusion in his peripheral vision when Kunzite raised his gun, cocked it, and aimed it at Daigo's head.

The look on Kunzite's face reminded him of the dark, depraved Kunzite he'd faced under Beryl. Except, there was an eager glint in his eyes that made Mamoru's blood run cold. "You're a fool, Akiyama-san," he growled, his lips curled into a manic smile. "There's a reason you fear the Tsukino's, and the only way that you and your men are leaving this house is wrapped in a bloodied sheet to be discarded like the trash that you are."

It happened so quickly; Mamoru barely had time to react. Though Jadeite and his men had appeared to have an aversion to the possession of guns, Daigo and his crew had no such qualms, and they'd come prepared.

One second Kunzite had been the only one armed and ready to fire, and in the next, Daigo and his men, that had strategically and discreetly circled behind them during their conversation, pulled out their guns and aimed them squarely at Usagi.

Mamoru involuntarily cursed because, _of course,_ she'd be their target. He'd already forgotten about the weapon in his pocket, and he decided, instead, to go on the defensive. Opting, as he had before, to shield Usagi with his body. She gasped as he hauled her out of her seat, roughly pushing her behind him.

"Makoto," he hissed through his teeth, his eyes fixed onto the brutes whose eyes were shining with disbelief. It was clear that they couldn't understand why _anyone _would want to protect the Usagi in this world. They didn't know her like he did, though. She was a shining ray of hope. She brought people together, and she put the bad guys down. Just like he knew she'd fight through the darkened threads of Kumicho Tsukino in this nightmare, too.

Makoto knew it as well, and in a flash of brown hair and long strides, she stood protectively on the other side of Usagi, between her and Daigo.

Soon there were screams from the bimbos in the pool, and the men that followed the Tsukino's had their guns poised and ready to shoot, too. He scanned the unfolding scene around him with disbelief. Kyodai from both sides, weapons raised, poised and prepared to shoot, seemingly frozen in an honest to god standoff. He took a step back, protectively pressing Usagi more closely into Makoto's back as a tense silence fell over them. If he wasn't so consumed with a mixture of frustration and fear for Usagi's safety, he might have laughed. Because the fact that he was standing in the middle of a circle of loaded guns for the third time in three days, when he'd never held one in his life, was downright hysterical.

He waited, breath held, furiously scanning his surroundings for a way to get them out of here, when Usagi's fingers curled into the fabric at the back of his shirt as she pushed against him before ducking beneath his arm.

"Usako," he hissed, annoyed, reaching for her to pull her back to safety. Despite her heels, she was quick, and she stepped just out of his reach, fully exposed, with a frown on her face.

Kunzite slid his gaze onto her from behind the pointed barrel of his gun. "Get your gun, Usagi," he demanded sharply.

Usagi shook her head. "Lower your weapons," she snapped through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing angrily before stopping on Kunzite. "You too, Kunz."

At first, they didn't listen, Daigo's crew sure it was some kind of trick, and Kunzite too stubborn, insistent on slaking his thirst for blood.

Usagi, though, was the one in charge. "Now!" She roared, frustrated, cheeks tinged pink with irritation before she swiveled around to face Daigo.

Kunzite held the gun poised for a second longer, jaw clenched as an array of emotion crossed his face. With one last look at Usagi, his hand shook, and with a practically feral growl of frustration, he dropped his arm and angrily took his finger off the trigger.

It was like a domino effect after that; every Kyodai, Tsukino, and Akiyama following suit as they lowered their weapons.

Mamoru exhaled with relief; the panic-ridden urgency laced with the need to protect Usagi dulling slowly. Though they'd lowered their guns, the tension was thick, and he could practically taste the array of emotions sizzling in the air between them.

Though the danger had seemingly passed, he was still tempted to reach out and pull Usagi away from Daigo, whose expression was murderous as he glared down at her, lips curled into a sneer, eyes flashing with hatred he no longer felt the need to hide.

Usagi had been forced to play many roles throughout these nightmares, but throughout them all, there had always been a piece of her that he'd managed to appeal to. It was as if the monsters were not able to entirely suppress the brightness that made up everything that she was. In this nightmare, the powerful, tenacious cords of the Moon Senshi were very much present, as was evident by the way she bravely met the hatred in Daigo's gaze with a look of determination shining from her eyes.

_This _look was not new to him. He'd seen it hundreds of times throughout their lives together. Apparently, it was new to Kunzite though, because his face was contorted into a mask of fury and confusion as he stared at his sister, whose ruthless role dictated that she should have picked up her gun and fired without a second thought.

He couldn't help the unfurling chords of relief and pride in his chest as he watched Usagi prop her fists onto her hips and boldly face Daigo. "Akiyama-san, I agree to your terms of leniency," she acceded, her voice steady, leaving no room for argument, even though Kunzite practically roared in disapproval beside them.

"Usa, you can't be _serious,"_ he hissed through gritted teeth. "His fucking family broke protocol, cornered you in a room and almost shot you in the face. We've killed people for _much _less than _that_!" His words were harshly whispered, dripping with venom-filled rage.

Usagi considered Kunzite for a moment, and he was sure that she was going to give in to the ruthless Tumicho Tsukino. Her men seemed to think so, too, as their hands hovered above their weapons in preparation. Then she glanced at him over her shoulder, and for a couple of seconds, he held her stare. It was there. The vulnerability of his Usako. This time, everyone else saw it, too.

She shook her head, cleared her throat, and strengthened her resolve. "Another death as a result of what happened to this priestess would be wasteful, Kunzite," she exclaimed haughtily. "I don't want anyone else to die today."

Daigo frowned, thoroughly confused, and Kunzite's face reddened with unrestrained disbelief and rage. "What?!" He roared, waving his gun dangerously. "Do you _even _hear yourself! How c—"

"I've already decided!" Usagi roared, and the silence that ensued her outburst was deafening.

Mamoru clenched his fingers into fists, feeling nervous again because even though it appeared that Kunzite had momentarily conceded, there was a look glinting in his eyes. An indication that he was not going to let go of Usagi's defiance that easily.

Usagi turned back towards Daigo, her posture tense as she met his gaze. "Well, Akiyama-san? Do you accept? Or, would you like it better if we raised our guns and started killing each other?" She snapped, and this time, her voice broke with emotion.

The tension melted from Daigo's shoulders, and a wisp of a smile lifted the corners of his lips, though his eyes still shone with distrust and hatred. "We accept, Kumicho Tsukino," he agreed, bowing his head with an exaggerated flourish.

Usagi nodded curtly, "Yuuki," she called without taking her eyes off of Daigo. Yuuki stepped forward, his brow knitted in confusion just like the others. "Please show our guests out."

Yuuki didn't hesitate, and neither did Daigo or his men. Though Daigo's eyes lingered on Usagi for a moment, laced with curiosity as he passed.

The moment Daigo and his men exited the way that they'd come, the tension mostly dissipated, for the Kyodai anyway, a couple of whom would have more than likely forfeited their lives in that exchange.

He heard Makoto exhale slowly, and he furtively glanced in her direction. She was still tense, lips pressed tightly into a thin, grim line, fists clenched and pressed into her thighs. She was _not _handling this well, and though she was stoically pushing through, Mamoru could tell that she was teetering on the edge of emotional exhaustion. He knew this because he'd been there, too.

Usagi turned towards them, and she purposefully sought out his gaze. His breath caught in his throat because the emotion in her eyes was so tangibly _evident. _His Usako was so close to the surface, _he could feel it._

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Kunzite who couldn't hold it in anymore. "Usagi," he bellowed. "What the _fuck _was that?" he demanded furiously, barreling towards her. "Do you know how weak you look _now? _And all because of a fucking inconsequential priestess?" He leaned forward and roughly gripped her arm.

Mamoru saw red when Usagi inhaled sharply on a startled, pained breath and he lifted his hand, stepped towards them, ready to rip Kunzite's damn arm _off_. But he wasn't needed. Before he could intervene, Usagi pried her fingers underneath Kunzites. Then, with a sharp, jerking twist, she wrenched his hand backward.

Kunzite gasped in pain, and Mamoru automatically cringed when a loud popping sound followed Usagi's movements. "The only weak person here," she hissed, eyes narrowed angrily on Kunzite's face, "is you, dear brother, and your inability to _think _before you act."

When she let him go, he stepped back, cradling his wrist in his other hand, his expression almost tortured as he openly gaped at her in disbelief. His wounded expression faded just as quickly as it appeared, and a cold, calculating smile slid onto his face.

He chuckled darkly and shook his head. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Usa, but I know who you are," he promised, and the tone in his words chilled Mamoru. "Did you know that you giggled when you pressed the barrel of your gun onto the priestess's forehead?" he whispered; his tone eerily calm as he steadily held Usagi's gaze.

Makoto whimpered beside him, and though she'd pressed her fingers to her lips to muffle the sound, they'd all heard it. Fuck. He needed to do _something. _Makoto wobbled, and she was on the verge of losing it. Though he kept his gaze fixed onto Usagi and Kunzite, he reached out discreetly and grasped Makoto's wrist, squeezing in an attempt to reassure her.

Kunzite's brow furrowed as his gaze flicked between them and Usagi before his expression smoothed, and a knowing look that filled him with dread fell onto his face. "It's true you know," he laughed dryly. "Should I remind you sister, how she begged for her life? And how you laughed in her face, told her everything was going to be okay, right before you pulled the trigger?"

Makoto choked on a sob, and her knees buckled at the cruelty laced into Kunzite's words. He wished that Makoto had taken a moment to glance over at Usagi, whose expression was filled with horror, pale-faced, as she shook her head in disbelief. If Usagi had killed Rei, she definitely did not remember it.

Makoto was incapable of seeing beyond Kunzite's purposefully cruel words, though, and he wished that he could remind her that this was a nightmare. It wasn't real, and Rei was fine. Well, as fine as she _could _be, strapped down in a lab with the rest of them.

She was beyond that now, though, and he was focusing solely on damage control as he grasped her by the waist to steady her. Usagi twisted around in time to see Makoto curled into his side, face buried in her hands as he attempted to quietly, as subtle as this moment would allow, comfort her.

His heart sank, and he inwardly cursed as he watched the devastation melt away from Usagi's expression at the sight of them, to be replaced with startled confusion before finally settling into that damn hardened look of hers. The cold, angry one that he hated with every fiber of his being.

Her lips curled into a sneer as her eyes flicked back and forth between him and Makoto. "I don't remember killing the priestess, but that sounds like something I would do," she snapped angrily, and he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. She glanced over at Kunzite; her expression cold. "I did the right thing today, brother, and it had nothing to do with the stupid Priestess _or _Jadeite's idiocy in falling in love with her." No! _She was lying. _It was clear that there was more than one personality trait that had followed Usagi to this nightmare. Though her ridiculous tendency to get jealous was _much _more dangerous here.

Makoto had regained control of her emotions, and her cheeks tinged red as she stepped away from him. Her bottom lip quivered a little, though her eyes had filled with renewed determination.

His Usako had retreated once again as Kumicho Tsukino roared back to life and she coldly swept her gaze over Makoto in disgust. "If I'd known that saving your lovers' life would turn my invaluable, stone-cold killer into a blubbering mass of weakness, I would have let him die," Usagi sneered icily.

Makoto's eyes widened, startled because _of course _that would have never occurred to the loyal Senshi of Jupiter. "Usagi, you're way—"

Usagi didn't let her finish her sentence before she took two strides forward to close the gap between her and Makoto. Usagi was short. Much shorter than Makoto. But with those ridiculous heels, she easily matched her height.

Her eyes were hardened, filled with bitterness as she fixed them steadily onto Makoto. "Be careful, _Mako-chan,_" She sneered frostily, uttering her name in a twisted, mocking tone. "I would hate it if you were suddenly no longer valuable to me."

It was the last thing she said before she swept past them in a flurry of blonde hair, her heels clicking loudly along the stones as she disappeared into the manor. It was only when she was gone that he snapped out of his tongue-tied daze. Damn! What the hell had he been thinking? He should have said something; called out to her before he let her walk away, once again the ruthless, stone-cold gangster.

Kunzite chuckled coldly, and Mamoru's jaw clenched, disappointed rage simmering just below the surface when his angry cobalt blue stare collided with his former general's icy-blue gaze that was smugly fixed onto his face. "Now _that _was my sister," he breathed, his tone firm and confident.

The Kunzite of this nightmare had done and said several bone-chilling things. That, though, was by _far _the most terrifying thing he'd said.

**oOo**

He was never going to fall asleep. In fact, he never wanted to close his eyes again because if he did, he might be forced to relive the god-awful moments from this afternoon.

Mamoru exhaled miserably into the darkness of his borrowed room and angrily twisted onto his side, punching his pillow in the process. It was like one step forward and two steps back in this Goddamn nightmare. At this rate, they'd be trapped here for _decades._

He hadn't seen Usagi again since the moment she'd angrily swept past him on the veranda. The rest of the day had been torturous, a strange mixture of tension and anticipation throughout the Kyodai who'd witnessed Usagi's peculiar behavior and were regarding him wearily.

It was definitely nerve-wracking, and he felt like he was treading a dangerously thin line. Makoto, though seemingly more composed after that horrible encounter, was still unlike herself, afraid of some kind of retribution from Usagi.

His jealous Usako, in the real world, was mildly annoying; endearing almost. But a jealous-filled Tumicho Tsukino, vengeful, angry, gun-wielding… well, that did not bode well for Makoto at the moment. Though the fact that she'd exhibited jealousy must mean that she felt _something _for him.

A sharp rap on his door tore him out of his thoughts, and he inwardly groaned, pulling himself up and off the bed as he stumbled through the darkness to get dressed. _What now?_

This world was nothing if not unpredictable, and he honestly had no idea who was on the other side of the door at this point. Though, he doubted it was Kunzite as he didn't peg the silver-haired general as the knocking type. And after today, he didn't think it was Usagi standing on the other side of the door this late. Which really only left…

"Makoto?" he breathed, brow furrowed in confusion as he pulled the door open and was greeted by the brunette who wore a determined expression on her face. "What are you doing here?"

She exhaled slowly, miserably, then shook her head. "I'm leaving for a couple of days," she responded, her tone tinged with dread. "We think we've found Asahi. I've been sent, with another Kyodai, to retrieve him." His frown deepened, and his heart skipped a painful beat because he knew that this role was hard for Makoto.

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "Can you stall? I'll do my best to make some progress while you're gone," he replied, though he grimaced with uncertainty. "Although, after today, I'm not holding my breath for any kind of quick fix."

Makoto let out a derisive bark of laughter that startled him, and his brow furrowed in confusion. "Well, I think you're about to get blue in the face, Mamoru. Because I didn't just come here to say goodbye," she exclaimed, a half-smirk on her lips, her arms folded and an amused glint in her eyes. "Usagi has summoned you."

His frown only deepened, his hand poised on the door, as he carefully studied Makoto's expression. Why would Usagi be _summoning _him at this time of night? Was there some kind of covert, late-night shipment exchange that she wanted him to go to?

He slowly shook his head, still not comprehending the reason for Makoto's tone of voice. "Okay…" he trailed off on a bewildered exhale of breath. "Where is she?"

Once again, Makoto laughed, which, in all honesty, was starting to grate on his nerves. "Mamoru," she said with emphasis, brows raised in amused disbelief. "She's summoned you to her room."

It took a moment before Makoto's expression and words finally registered. His eyes widened, startled, a dull heat creeping up his neck; reddening his cheeks and the tips of his ears. _Usagi was summoning him to her room for…. _"You can't be serious!" he sputtered in disbelief, effectively widening the smile on Makoto's face.

She shrugged, nodding curtly before swiveling around, "Dead serious," she murmured as she began to move down the hall, leaving Mamoru to scramble after her.

Usagi had never been shy about that kind of thing. In fact, _he'd _always been the more careful one; infinitely reserved, painfully reticent when it came to physical intimacy; a vision of Usako giggling with a suggestive wiggle of her brow as she teasingly dubbed him a prude flashed through his mind. _Still… _this _was _pretty bold. Even for Usagi.

He grimaced uncomfortably as he fell into step beside Makoto, red-faced, hands buried in his pockets. He supposed that he wasn't dealing with Usagi right now though, was he? This summons had been a prompt from Tumicho Tsukino, and this was _precisely _something the ruthless, impulsive gangster would demand.

He was barely paying attention to the hallway they were navigating, Makoto guiding him to Usagi's room when he furtively glanced sideways at the brunette. Her expression was hardened but unreadable as they continued moving forward. _Damn. _This was so uncomfortable. He hoped that when all of this was finally over, Makoto wouldn't remember this particular moment.

They stopped suddenly, in front of double-wide, white painted doors, and his breath hitched; a mixture of trepidation, because he had no idea what was really waiting for him, and anticipation because, well, he couldn't help but want to see her. No matter what state of mind that she was in.

His eyes were fixed onto the door in quiet contemplation, so it startled him when Makoto grasped his arm. He craned his neck to peer down into her eyes. Which were now wide and filled with guilt.

She took a deep breath, shifting from one foot to the other nervously. "Mamoru, I'm so sorry about what happened earlier," she murmured apologetically. "I shouldn't have lost it like that. I just want you to know…" she cleared her throat before continuing. "I'm not going to falter again. We need to save her."

His expression softened with understanding, and he couldn't help but feel relieved at the determined, conviction filled expression that was much more like the loyal, unwavering Senshi he knew. "It's okay," he assured with a gentle smile. "We're going to get out of this."

She nodded, reassured and determined, before glancing at the closed door. Her cheeks tinged pink, and she coughed uncomfortably. "Well, um, good luck?"

He grimaced, his face burning hotly, and Makoto chuckled at his expression. It was the lightest that he'd seen her since this nightmare had begun, so he let go of his embarrassment for a moment and managed to shrug with a smirk. "I don't need luck," he replied confidently.

Makoto choked, her nose wrinkling with a shake of her head. "That is my cue to leave," she shuddered, though her smile was sincere when she squeezed his arm one last time before twirling around and striding down the hall. Her gait confident and filled with purpose, the heels of her green leather boots clicking loudly on the hardwood floors.

Mamoru took a deep breath, leaned forward, twisted the brass handle embossed with an intricate flower design, and pushed the door open. It was soundless as it swept across the floor, and his pulse quickened as he stepped over the threshold.

The room was dimly lit, vintage brass lamps fixed into the walls with rose shaped glass coverings. It was easily three times larger than the room he'd been appointed; lavishly decorated, sleek white furniture and a large California king sized bed pressed up against the wall.

He was sure that when this room had been designed, the bed was meant to have been the focal point; four-posters, lace and silk organza draped across them. It wasn't, though, because the most beautiful thing amidst the luxury in this room was, hands down, Usagi.

She was perched like a seductive porcelain doll on a vanity chair, running the bristles of a brush through the long, silken locks of her hair that tumbled around her shoulders like a curtain of glistening, liquid sunshine as she peered into a mirror.

In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that she'd probably purposefully positioned herself that way, her body twisted to the side, long, naked legs curled beneath her, calf muscles flexed from the strain of yet another pair of blood-red stiletto heels.

His heart skipped a beat, his breath hitched in his throat as his gaze traveled up the perfection of her legs to the hardened planes of her bared abdomen, the sloping curves of her semi-naked body, and the taut perfection that was sitting, in lacy red underwear with a matching bra, in unashamed glory.

He knew he was done the moment that her china-blue eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror. They were smoldering with a bold promise that sent the blood rushing from his face to _other _extremities, and he bit back a groan even as his fingers flexed, itching to touch her.

Her lips quirked up into a provocative smile. "Good, you came."

He swallowed, and it took a moment to respond. "Did I have a choice?" He croaked on a ragged breath of air.

Her smile faded slightly, and a slight crease appeared on her forehead as her hand froze mid-brush stroke. "Do you want to leave?"

He didn't even have to think about it. "No," he responded simply, vehemently.

She laughed, a low, sultry practiced sound that sent goosebumps rolling down his spine. Slowly, she lowered her hand, placed the brush onto the glass surface of her vanity. Then in one fluid motion, she uncurled her lithe form and gracefully stood to face him.

He stood frozen, slack-jawed as she approached. She was as graceful as a panther stalking its prey, and, with great difficulty, he swallowed, licking his lips because he was suddenly parched, desperate to drink her up.

Common sense and rational thought disappeared like a wisp of smoke when she closed the gap between them, leaned forward, and tantalizingly swept the tips of her fingers along his jawline, pressing them onto his lips while her other hand crept beneath the bottom seam of his shirt, palm flat, hotly trailing across the tightening muscled curve of his abdomen.

He couldn't help the groan that tangled on his tongue and spilled from his lips when she leaned forward, her hair tickling the side of his face, and pressed her lips onto the shell of his ear. "Close the door, Mamoru," she demanded on a breathy whisper and nipped his earlobe.

He didn't have to think about it. His hand shot out, grasped the edge, and swung it shut with a resounding slam that echoed loudly around them.

She pulled back with a victorious giggle, curled slender fingers into the fabric of his shirt and forcefully yanked him forward. It caught him off guard, and he stumbled slightly, his body colliding into hers, and he just had time to steady himself when her lips assaulted his.

They molded and moved with a heated, practiced ferocity that drove him insane. Then he was lost in a haze of lust and need as her arms curled around his neck, fingers raking through his hair at the back of his head. Somehow, she managed to twist them around, lips still locked as she guided him to her bed.

When the back of his calves collided with the foot of her bed, she pulled away with a wet, pop of her lips. He barely had time to catch his breath before she leaned forward with a sensuous smirk, pressed her palms onto his chest, and forcibly pushed him back onto the bed.

He inhaled sharply as he fell onto the plush surface of her mattress, bracing himself on his elbows as, wide-eyed, he peered up at her standing above him_. _She was a sultry goddess of perfection.

One moment he was staring up at her, breathless with need, and the next she'd straddled him, her knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his hips. "Christ, Usako," he choked on a ragged breath and her smile widened with well-earned arrogance.

She was in total control as she pushed him back into the mattress with palms flat on his chest. Slowly, she leaned forward, grinding against him in a way that made him hiss through his teeth; the friction unbearable, even through the fabric of his jeans. His hands settled on the curve of her hips, and she laughed, her breath fanning warmly across his face as she trailed her hand slowly down the length of his arm, pried his hand from her waist, and interlaced her fingers with his.

His vision blurred, breathing quickened, as she took control, guiding his hand to slide tantalizingly along the trembling skin of her abdomen, gliding upward, until his palm was cupping the lace covered weight of her breast that fit perfectly in his palm.

She moaned, her fingers still intertwined with his as they kneaded, her nipple hardening through the thin material of her bra, straining against his skin.

It was too much, and he was ten seconds away from grasping her waist, tossing her onto the bed and ravishing her, when her smile twisted into a self-satisfying smirk that pierced through the lust-filled fog of his brain. "Do you like this, Mamoru?" She whispered with another twist of her hips. "I'm much better than Makoto."

Those words were like she'd poured a bucket of ice-cold water over his head, and he inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing as it registered, finally, what this was about.

This wasn't Usagi. This seductive, alluring creature currently grinding into him was Tumicho Tsukino, and this had nothing to do with how she felt for him, and everything to do with wanting something she thought belonged to someone else. His stomach churned miserably because it occurred to him that there was a reason she'd sent Makoto to bring him to her room.

There was nothing between him and Makoto. Not romantically. But _she _didn't know _that_. And, Christ. The Makoto of this world was _supposed _to be her _friend_.

It disgusted and infuriated him. There was no way he was going to play this game with Tumicho Tsukino. He didn't give a damn how enticingly sexy she was like this. He wanted _Usako. _

With a sharply whispered expletive, he ripped his hand away from hers, grasped her by the waist and, as gently as possible, tossed her off of him; quickly scrambling off of the bed.

She gasped, eyes wide and filled with indignant confusion as she stared up at him from the middle of the bed. "What the hell?" she hissed and her fingers clenching into fists.

His eyes hardened, and his hands shook as he took a step back. "I don't want this," he spat with unfettered disdain.

It was as if he'd struck her, her eyes wide, lips parted in shock. "_What?!" _she snarled. "You're rejecting _me?"_

He stopped for a second because he wasn't sure if this was going to make things worse or better for him, but he knew, without a doubt, that he couldn't sleep with her like this. "I'm not interested in the cruel, cold-hearted Tumicho Tsukino," he responded coldly.

With a gasp of rage, she scrambled from the bed, still managing to remain graceful in those dumb, un-Usagi-like heels, as she stalked towards him, angrily tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You son of a bitch," she raged. "You want me! I _know _you do! I've _seen _the way you look at me!"

She lifted her fists, propelling them forward to strike him, but he caught and restrained them easily, holding them above her head. "I don't want you like this," he whispered, his face inches from hers, their gazes burning hotly into each other. "I've already told you, _Tumicho Tsukino. _Cruelty is not an attractive quality."

His words struck home, and her eyes widened as she stopped struggling. "It's who I am, Mamoru," she whispered, but there was confusion layered beneath her tone. It broke him to pieces. He couldn't stand to see her this way.

He took a deep, pained breath. He was prepared to deal with the consequences of this decision, and he'd do whatever it took to break through the roughly woven threads of Tumicho Tsukino. "If that's what you really think," he began, moving his face closer to hers, their gazes locked, her short puffs of breath weaving with his. "Then you're more lost than I thought."

He couldn't stand to see the haughty, rage-filled look glistening from behind the eyes of the woman he loved. It was painful, and he needed to get the fuck out of there before he caved and gave her whatever she wanted.

With a sharp, anguish-filled inhale he abruptly let her go, twisted around, yanked the door open and strode with purpose into the hall.

The sound of Usagi's howl of rage as the door slammed behind him rang painfully loud in his ears as he fled to the safe, but lonely, confines of his room.

**oOo**

Everything ached as he trudged back to his room for the night. Three miserably long days ago, he'd walked out on a scantily dressed, infinitely tempting Usagi. Since then, he'd quickly learned that this ruthless version of her did not take rejection well.

Mamoru sighed; the despondent sound unintentionally loud as it resonated in the hallway. He twisted the handle of his room and stepped over the threshold into the darkened interior, slamming it shut behind him. She'd been purposely ignoring him, her eyes blazing with red hot rage every time their gazes happened to meet. Tumicho Tsukino had been in her element; her mood foul, and her behavior towards _everyone _practically unbearable.

To Mamoru, it was easy to see the petulance for what it was. She was sulking just like his adorable, pink-cheeked, pouty-faced Usako might have done back in the real world at the very beginning of their relationship. The difference was that Usagi's insecurities as the sweet, loving Moon Senshi manifested _very _differently with the forced staples of the cold personality embedded into her here. So, the resulting tension in the house had been unbearably thick, and the Kyodai scattered like mice as her temper tantrum stretched from one day into two.

With a groan of unfettered frustration, Mamoru fell onto the bed, crumpled sheets bunching up beneath him as he angrily twisted onto his back to fix a glare onto a crack in the plaster of the ceiling.

He had no way of knowing if this was the right decision, and he felt further away from his goal than ever. His lips curled up into a bitter smirk because, despite her blatantly icy attitude, she'd been insistent that he was to remain a part of her entourage. Diligently tasked to follow her around with the other obedient Kyodai only to witness her childish outbursts of anger. From the way she'd snarled at the serving girl at breakfast whose hand shook as she'd poured her tea, accidentally spilling some over the rim. Or to the Shatei by the pool that she'd furiously dismissed because he happened to be blocking the sun.

Every single time, she'd glanced back at him with a haughty expression fixed onto her face, daring him to say something. Of course, his responding stare of disapproval only seemed to infuriate her even more, and he'd been tasked to a day of manual labor, moving impossibly heavy crates in a musty warehouse, whose contents he didn't dare contemplate.

At this rate, because he'd apparently been stupid enough to push her away, they were probably all going to end up as a permanent fixture in this nightmare.

After dropping the painfully heavy edge of a crate onto his foot, _once again, _he'd seriously started to reconsider his decision not to give in to her, when he'd caught the eye of another one of the Tsukino's underlings wrangled into manual labor.

The tattooed, tawny-haired man had stopped, smirking as he casually leaned back onto the crate he'd been moving. "So, you're the reason that Tumicho Tsukino's on a rampage," he'd chortled, eliciting an annoyed scowl from Mamoru.

He'd rolled his eyes, turned away, and promptly ignored him. As a general rule, Mamoru had purposely distanced himself from the others. He was not willing to get distracted from his ultimate goal to get them out of here by associating with people that may, or may not, truly exist.

The Shatei's amused chuckle pierced the air around them, and Mamoru's posture tensed as the man, incapable of deciphering his silent message to leave him alone, had followed him to the remaining stacks of boxes.

"You must have really done something to get under her skin. She's weaker than usual. What's your secret?" he'd drawled, and Mamoru's eyes narrowed, confused, as he'd twisted around to face the smug-faced thug.

He probably should have ignored him but, admittedly, he'd hit a wall, toppling close to the edge of despair with how to proceed, and he was confused by the man's statement. _Weaker than usual?_

"What are you talking about?" Mamoru demanded through gritted teeth.

He shrugged. "Well, I don't know what you've heard about Tumicho Tsukino," he began, leaning towards him, smirk curled smugly on his lips. "I know you haven't been here long, but I sure as hell know that she wouldn't have given it a second thought before shooting someone who'd dared to block _her _sun before you got here." Mamoru's frown had deepened, startled into silence by his words. "In fact, I've had to scrub the blood off the floor from more than one poor dead sap for that very reason. She hasn't been carrying her gun around, either. Have you noticed?"

Mamoru's jaw had remained clenched, his expression unreadable, and he refused to respond to the Shatei as he'd turned back to the task at hand.

The Shatei had chuckled and moved away, Mamoru's silence answer enough, apparently, and his heart began to race as he'd considered the underling's words. Because it was true. Usagi's tantrum had been decidedly more petulant, and significantly less cruel.

Hope flared, unbidden, in his chest, and later on, as he'd stood in the circle of Kyodai on the deck by Usagi lounging by the pool, he'd carefully studied her.

She hadn't bothered to glance his way from the moment he arrived, and he tried not to let that discourage him as he inwardly clung onto the warehouse grunt workers words that played through his mind in a continuous loop. _She hasn't been carrying her gun around, either. Have you noticed?_

He'd kept his gaze fixed onto her lithe form, dressed in yet another jaw-dropping, shudder-inducing bathing suit, silently willing her to look over at him, if only for a second when Kunzite sauntered onto the veranda. He was staggering, followed by two giggling brunettes, a smug smirk curled onto his lips and a slightly crazed glint flashing icily in his eyes.

Mamoru had instantly tensed, the hairs on the back of his neck rising forebodingly as he'd watched the silver-haired general approach her. "Usa!" He'd exclaimed, chuckling darkly in a way that made Mamoru clench his fists to keep from protectively reaching for her. "What are you doing? I need you!"

Golden brows arched coolly as Usagi peered over the top of sleek, black designer framed sunglasses, her gaze sweeping over her brother in mild irritation. "What do you want, Kunz?" She'd snapped, her tone tinged with the same, annoyed edge that it had been since he'd left her room three nights ago. "I'm not in the mood."

Kunzite's expression darkened dangerously for a moment, and Mamoru didn't miss the way his eyes briefly flicked over to him. It was fleeting, and his smirk, though contrived, widened before he chuckled. "Oh, dearest sister of mine," he'd chided, his tone soft and teasing. "You're in a slump, and I know _just _what you need to do to fix that."

Usagi snorted, adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose before settling back into the lounger. "I'm not in a slump," she'd muttered under her breath, her tone churlish. "I'm fine right where I am, Kunzite. Leave me alone."

Kunzite visibly gritted his teeth, attempting to remain composed, though his smile was clearly forced now. "_Regardless, _slump or not, I think you just need to have a good time, Usa," he'd drawled, leaning forward with a smile that made Mamoru's pulse quicken with dread. "Why don't you have a drink, maybe pop a pill, and we can call Aki to entertain you for the night."

It took a moment for Kunzite's suggestion to register, and Mamoru inhaled sharply, a mixture of disgust and possessive jealousy unfurling uncomfortably in his chest. He was relatively sure that he could handle most of the distasteful things Usagi was being forced to do as Tumicho Tsukino; it wasn't her fault, after all. But the thought of watching her with someone else, while standing obediently by her side..._ he couldn't stomach it_.

He'd been contemplating how the hell he was going to fix the backlash of what he was inevitably going to do if someone so much as _attempted_ to touch her like _that _when Usagi's sharply uttered reply interrupted his thoughts.

"No."

Kunzite was taken aback, eyes narrowed in confusion as he'd clearly anticipated a different reaction. "What? Would you prefer someone else, then? Ezume is a new Kyodai, not usually your type, but maybe you need to branch out. I can always ca—"

"No, Kunz," she'd snapped sharply. "I'm not _interested."_

Still, Kunzite shook his head, choking on a bark of disbelieving laughter with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Come on, Usa," he'd chided, "you're being ridiculous now. _Trust me. _This is what you need. You've—"

Usagi, tense and angry, had jolted up into a sitting position. "I fucking said _no, _Kunzite. What is so difficult to _understand?_" she'd practically snarled, her tone filled with fury-tinged irritation. "I'm _not _interested."

Her forceful rejection of Kunzite's offer should have been enough, and his former general should have had the good sense to accept it, get up, and _walk away._ This was a nightmare, though, and Kunzite was an arrogant asshole here.

Instead, the cold blue pools of his eyes had filled with seething rage, the muscles in the silver-haired Generals neck tightening with fury as he'd furiously leaned forward and grasped his sister by her shoulders. "I'm getting really _fucking_ tired of whatever the _fuck _it is that's going on with you, _Usagi_," he'd hissed, his eyes fixed icily onto her face.

The others around the pool had gone entirely silent. Kunzite's bimbos and the other Kyodai exchanged looks of uncertainty, clearly not accustomed to seeing the siblings clash of wills.

The flash of red-hot rage that coursed through Mamoru was inexplicable, and his vision blurred as, without thinking, he stepped towards the pair. "Let her go," he'd growled, gripping the collar of Kunzite's shirt as he'd violently yanked him back.

It caught Kunzite off guard, and the general was clearly under the influence of some kind of mind-altering substance, so it didn't take much for him to release Usagi and stumble to the ground.

There was a cacophony of gasps as Kunzite scrambled clumsily to his feet, his gaze wild with fury. "I'm going to fucking kill you, you little—"

Mamoru's eyes were fixed onto Kunzite's face, his stance stiff, poised and ready to defend himself, when the general suddenly doubled over, gasping for breath as he sank to his knees.

Mamoru's eyes drew together into a puzzled frown as his gaze flicked down to Usagi, who had, at some point during his altercation with Kunzite, shot out of her seat. She was like a tiny, blonde-haired hellcat; red-faced, muscles coiled tightly, as the china-blue hues in her eyes flashed dangerously between him and Kunzite.

Her fingers were curled into the fist that she'd just fiercely thrust into her brother's abdomen. "Sober up, Kunzite," she hissed, glaring down at him as he'd clutched at his middle, sucking in sharp, pained breaths of air through his teeth.

Mamoru couldn't help the satisfied smirk that curled onto his lips at the sight. His amusement was short-lived, though, because Usagi swiveled around, turning the full brunt of her rage onto him. "And you!" she'd bellowed angrily. "I should _kill _you for that." The sneer that curled onto her lips and the icy glint flashing through her eyes managed to deflate him a little, but she _was _different_. _This wasn't just Tumicho Tsukino anymore. If it was, not only would she have gladly accepted Kunzite's disgusting proposition to 'let loose,' but he'd probably already be dead.

It was a risk, he knew it was, but he didn't back down. Steadily meeting her gaze, a knowing smile curled onto his lips. "Do it then, Usako," he'd prodded softly.

Her eyes widened, lips parted in shock as he took another step towards her, lessening the gap between them. "What?" She choked on a ragged breath of air.

He was so close that they were practically touching. All he had to do was lower his face by an inch, and he'd be able to press his lips onto hers. "Take out your gun and kill me."

It was a challenge that Tumicho Tsukino —the snarling, hard-eyed blonde that had callously shot a cop the first time he'd met her here— would have _never _backed down from. She would have pulled out the weapon strapped _somewhere _on the luscious curves of her body, pressed it to his head and pulled the trigger without a second thought.

This wasn't Tumicho Tsukino anymore, though, and he knew the exact moment that she realized it. It flashed in her eyes, the vulnerability that was his Usako, and, damn, he'd nearly cheered victoriously. Because she didn't have her gun. And even if she did, she wasn't the ruthless, cold-hearted monster that she'd been a mere five days ago.

Of course, it wasn't that easy. It was _never _that easy, and Usagi's expression darkened angrily as she tilted her chin up to boldly meet his gaze. "You're not dead right now because you saved my life," she began, her tone deathly calm. "We're even now, Chiba, and you are free to remain here as a Shatei. But it's at your own risk because I don't want to see you again. I'll kill you the next time I do."

The genuine sincerity laced into those words before she'd swept by him and back into the house had been confusing as hell. Because hadn't he been certain, only seconds before, that he was making progress?

He'd effectively been dismissed, and now he needed to figure out how the hell he was going to get close to her again. Which was why he was currently lying in the dark, scowling up at the ceiling, defeated and frustrated, because he had no clue what he was going to do next.

He'd just closed his eyes, beginning to drift off into a restless sleep, when there was a sharp knock on his door.

His eyes flew open, and he blinked into the darkness, his brow creasing into a confused frown. He propped himself onto his elbows, gaze narrowed onto the door, sure he'd imagined it when another knock resonated through the darkness of his room.

His first thought was that Makoto had returned from tracking down Asahi and Kaito, and he grimaced, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and nervously raking his fingers through his hair. Damn. How was he going to explain this set back to Makoto, who was eager to get the hell out of here?

The apologetic words of reassurance were forming on the tip of his tongue as he strode to the door and quickly pulled it open.

The words promptly died on his lips as he stared, wide-eyed, and slack-jawed in shock. Because it wasn't Makoto standing at his door; green eyes flashing with determination, fists propped impatiently on her hips. It was _Usagi._

He blinked twice, sure that he was seeing things as his gaze swept over her. This was not the polished, confident Usagi that had been present in this nightmare up until this point. The girl on the other side of his door was closer to _his_ Usako. The picture of vulnerable perfection; lower lip poised nervously between her teeth, wearing a silky white robe that cinched tightly at her waist, and her hair pulled back into a hastily crafted ponytail, curled, flyaway tendrils of hair haphazardly framing her heart-shaped face.

His pulse quickened, and he forcibly cleared his throat. "Usako? What are you doing here?" It was the first question that popped into his head. Because he'd spent the last forty-five minutes miserably going over every single one of his mistakes since waking up here, and in every single one of his half-formulated plans, _none of them_ had involved her coming to him.

Hopeful anticipation urged his heart to beat at an impossibly quickened pace as her eyes flicked up to his before they suddenly narrowed angrily, and her shoulders stiffened as a red-tinged blush swept across the angled curves of her cheekbones.

With a gargled groan of irritation, she shoved past him, nearly knocking him over in the process. He noted that she was still sporting a pair of un-Usagi-like, ridiculously impractical stiletto heels as she halted, gracefully swirled around to face him; her eyes flashing furiously in the middle of the plain, dimly-lit room.

Bewildered, eyes fixed onto her face, he slowly shut the door behind her. The room darkened even more without the sliver of fluorescent light from the hallway, and he forcibly swallowed because, despite the anger that was flashing in her eyes, she was a vision of beauty.

She stood, framed by the moonlight pouring in through the lone window in his room, her slender form bathed in its soft glow. At that moment, she was every inch the ethereal Moon Princess he loved so much, and it made his heart ache with longing.

She took a deep breath, propped her fists onto her hips as she boldly faced him. "Why do you _keep _calling me that?" she demanded, her tone crisp, desperate almost. "And what do you mean _what are you doing here?" _She growled, stalking towards him, poking him in the chest with a trembling, raised index finger. "I'm _the boss!" _Her tone was frenzied, and it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him. "I can go _wherever _I want!" She exclaimed, but her voice shook, and her lower lip quivered as she angrily closed the distance between them.

His breath hitched in his throat as he peered down at her, the painful mixture of confusion and anger visible in the contours of her face tugged at his heartstrings. _God. _She was so beautiful, and so much like _his _Usako again.

She wasn't done though, and she angrily pressed her palms flat on his chest as if to shove him back, but instead, she curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Her eyes glistened with agony as she peered up at him through long, lacy black lashes.

"Who are you?" she whispered hoarsely. "How is it possible that everything is _perfect. _It's fucking perfect, Mamoru. And then _you _sweep in, and all of a sudden, I'm questioning _everything!"_

He inhaled sharply, heart hammering against his ribcage, as he lifted his hands to cradle her face. The second his fingers touched the smooth skin of her cheek, though, her eyes widened, and she roughly pulled away. "No! Damn you, _Mamoru," _she hissed as she visibly attempted to blink back the tears that welled in her eyes. "I don't want this," she choked, her hands clutching at the delicate fabric of her robe at her chest. "You're making this so_ hard. _I don't want these _feelings," _she admitted with an anguished whimper before burying her head in her hands.

This was precisely what he'd wanted. To remind her of the bright, beautiful person that she was, but, fuck. _He loved her, _and it still hurt to see her struggle like this. He blinked back his own angry set of tears, once again internally vowing to destroy whoever was doing this to her, before he stepped forward and tentatively grasped her wrists. His movements were tender as he gently pulled her hands away from her face.

She looked miserable, the internal struggle between Tumicho Tsukino and Usako tearing her apart inside. "Usako," he whispered, dreading the fact that he needed to push harder, make her delve deeper. _It was the only way to save her. _"What feelings?"

His heart twisted painfully as the tears she'd desperately been trying to hold back fell from her eyes, sliding listlessly down her cheeks. At first, he didn't think she was going to answer him, and he held his breath as his grip tightened around her wrists, and he pulled her closer, tenderly cradling her hands against his chest.

Was it possible that he'd succeeded already? Was she ready to admit that she loved him? Because he knew that she did. It was etched into every piece of her that had unknowingly responded to him the minute she'd laid eyes on him in that warehouse.

She visibly swallowed and clenched her eyes shut for a moment as if to block out the pain. "Remorse, Mamoru," she whispered on a tormented, harshly croaked breath before her tear-filled stare met this. "Guilt is agonizing, and before you…" she choked, unable to finish that sentence. "Do you _know _what I've done?" Her words were laced with self-loathing. "Do you know what I am?"

Rage, unlike anything he'd ever felt before, coursed through him. It momentarily blurred his vision, and his ears began to ring, the metallic taste of the bitterness on his tongue. He knew what she was; perfection, a beacon of hope in the darkest crevices of the entire fucking galaxy. The fact that whoever was doing this to them had made her believe, for even a second, that she was something dark, wracked with guilt-ridden anguish over things she hadn't even done, infuriated him.

His hands shook as he lifted them to cradle her face. This time she didn't pull away as the pads of his thumbs swept away the tears on her cheeks, the tips of his fingers threading through the silken strands of hair at her temples. "I know what you are, Usako," he replied, conviction laced into his words. "I know what you've done, and it doesn't matter." He pressed his lips onto her forehead, and she shuddered in his arms. "Usako, I love you."

He felt her stiffen against him, heard her surprised, sharp inhale of breath as she, once again, pulled away from him. The way her eyes widened with agony-filled confusion as if she couldn't understand how that was even possible, tore him into shreds.

It broke his heart to watch her step back, shrinking away from him. "_What?_" she choked, clutching the edge of the dresser behind her. "You don't know me, Mamoru. How can you possibly know that there's something worth loving inside of me?" Her expression and words reflected the disbelief at the absurdity of his confession. It was true; if this world were real, and he'd actually just met her, his admission of love would have definitely been said prematurely.

This wasn't real though, she was his soulmate, always had been. Even though she'd been forced to forget, he knew that she could feel it, too. _That _was evident by the hope-filled glint shining in her eyes as they fixed, almost desperately, onto him.

He wasn't going to get a confession of love from her anytime soon. She needed time to love herself again. But in the meantime, he was going to remind her of who she was, and love her enough for both of them.

The corners of his lips curled up into a tender, slightly wistful, smile. This wasn't going to be like when she'd ordered him to her room as Tumicho Tsukino. The girl in front of him was _his _Usako, and he just needed to show her how to be _Usako _again.

"Usako, take off those ridiculous shoes and come here."

For a split second, the silence in the room was deafening as he watched her internally struggle with the decision to give in, let go of Tumicho Tsukino, and come to him. It passed quickly, and she visibly swallowed, still clutching the dresser behind her as she slowly stepped out of her shoes. It seemed like another significant moment when she stepped down, her height what it should be again, as she peered up at him. Her expression was filled with a raw vulnerability that made his heartache.

Warily, she moved towards him, shoulders tensed in anticipation until they stood mere inches apart. His smile was tender as he cupped the side of her face with one hand, and placed the other one onto the small of her back, silently urging her closer. "Usako," he murmured softly, her breathing quickening with the visible rise and fall of her chest.

He didn't utter another word as his hand trailed the slender curve of her neck, weaving into the hair at the back of her head, as he swept down with an involuntary groan and captured her lips against his. They molded together perfectly, just like they always had, and his tongue swept along the ample curl of her bottom lip. She parted them with a whimper, granting him access.

She moaned softly, and her movements became more frantic, hurried, and lust-filled. She pulled away, a seductive smile curled onto her lips as she nipped at his jaw, her frenzied fingers tugging at the elastic band of the jogging pants he'd changed into to go to sleep.

He wanted this. He wanted _her_. But he wasn't interested in the tantalizingly practiced movements of Tumicho Tsukino, so he grasped her wrist, and forcibly stilled her movements. Her eyes were wide, and she peered up at him, confused by his sudden, silent command to stop.

His lips quirked up into a reassuring half-smile, "Not like that, Usa."

Her eyes widened as he reached forward and expertly unknotted the silk, fabric belt that served to tie her robe shut. The material parted, revealing a practically translucent slip that molded perfectly to the contours of her body. His breath hitched in his throat as he slipped his fingers in between the fabric of her robe and her skin, pulling it slowly off of her shoulders. It was like a rippling wave of white silk that billowed softly before sliding along the length of her body and pooling on the floor at their feet.

_Damn_. She was stunning, so heart-achingly beautiful, that he could barely stand it anymore. With a shaky exhale, he pulled her back into his arms, pressed his lips tenderly onto the bare skin of her shoulder even as his hand swept down her sides, the silk gliding listlessly against his fingertips, before settling onto her hips.

She pressed her palms flat against his chest, taking his cue to go slow, and propelled herself onto the tips of her toes. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressed her against the hardened expanse of his chest as her lips brushed softly, delicately along the length of his jaw, like butterfly wings trailing against his skin.

She stopped her gentle ministrations, suddenly, her hair tickling his cheek as her mouth hovered just beside his ear. "Mamoru, please."

He couldn't think straight after that. His name whispered like a love-filled plea on her lips nearly drove him over the edge. His hands slipped beneath the bottom seam of her nightgown, his fingers pressing into the soft skin on the backs of her thighs, as he leaned forward, and hoisted her into his arms.

She gasped, wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him as, in one swift movement, he carried her to the bed and tenderly laid her down on it.

His bed was only a twin, small, not very comfortable, but Usagi still looked tiny on it. Her hair was everywhere, mostly loose from the ponytail that had barely held it up as it spilled across his sheets and pillow like a golden curtain of rippling silk. The creamy white of her bared skin shone flawlessly in the moonlight as her slip tantalizingly bunched around her hips. Her lithe form splayed out in front of him like a picture of heart-stopping perfection. But, it was the look in her eyes that pulled the air from his lungs, the raw, unfettered, _purely Usako_ expression that made him breathless, and desperate for more.

One second he was gazing down at her in awe, and in the next, his body covered hers. Their lips locked, tongues tangled, as his hands explored the soft, muscled edges of her legs that parted as he settled between them. The perfect contours of her hips wiggled in his hands as he divested her of her thin, silk shift that ripped as he tugged a little too fiercely before he tossed it onto the floor.

Soon, his lips replaced his fingers as they trailed along the dip of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, down to the hardened planes of her trembling abdomen. He was lost in the heart-aching perfection of her body, and the sounds of her gasping moans as her fingers wove into his hair as she arched her hips, writhing beneath him, because of the way he deftly twisted and slid his tongue over the most sensitive parts of her core.

His hands steadied her hips, keeping them in place as he brought her to the very brink of release before her body tensed and her lips parted on a soundless cry of pleasure as she toppled into ecstasy.

He pulled away, moving up the length of her body, and pressed his palms into the mattress on either side of her head, leaning back, so that he could look at her.

Her eyes, wet with tears, peered up at him, hooded, satiated and filled with a sense of awe that filled him with pride. "Look at you, Usako," he murmured huskily, shifting his weight so that he could lift his fingers and sweep a tendril of hair out of her eyes. "Beautiful," he whispered reverently, sweeping down to press his lips onto the crook of her shoulder; nipping playfully at the sensitive spots on the curve of her neck, his lips hovering above her ear. "Inside and out, Usa."

She inhaled sharply, "Mamoru," she whispered, the tenor in her voice trembling.

Then her mouth was on his again, lips quivering as they moved sensuously, boldly and filled with passion. Though her kiss wasn't as harsh and demanding as it had been a few days ago, it was more practiced, filled with urgency, and a breathless need that made him dizzy. Then, he was lost again, his need for her building in the pit of his stomach as she whimpered into his mouth, and wantonly arched her body into his as he buried his hands into the endless locks of her hair.

Their kiss escalated into a lust-filled frenzy, as she slowly, tantalizingly ran her hands from the nape of his neck across the top of his shoulders, to lay them flat onto his chest. In one swift movement, she bent her knees, forcefully pushed him forward, and propelled him onto his back.

He gasped into her mouth, startled, as she switched their positions, and straddled his hips without breaking their kiss. His hands automatically settled onto her hips, steadying her, as she breathlessly pulled away.

His throat constricted with emotion, heart skipping a painful beat, because, God. She was so beautiful; flushed cheeks, swollen lips, mussed hair, and a come-hither look shining from behind half-hooded eyes.

It felt like time froze for a moment, as their gazes locked before she leaned back and pulled at the bottom seam of his shirt. His breath caught in his throat, heart racing with an excitement-filled fervor as he helped her remove his shirt over his head and tug his pants over his hips beneath her. Casting them aside as he had with her torn, white silk nightgown.

Their movements were hurried after that, labored breathing, pink-tinged skin, interlocked lips as she aligned her body with his. With synchronized gasps of relief, she lowered herself onto him until he was fully sheathed inside of her.

She threw her head back, hair tumbling over her shoulders, spilling across his chest as she whimpered, mewled, and rocked against him in a way that elicited a feral growl as he felt the tension building so tightly, he was sure that he was going to snap.

With a trembling groan, she fell forward on top of him. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of his sheets on either side of his head as she rocked forward, moving in circular motions, her forehead pressed onto his as she continued to moan. "Mamoru, I can't. God, I think—"

They were both close, on the edge, as he moved with her, his hands guiding her hips, his breath weaving with hers in short, pleasure-filled gasps. "It's okay. I've got you, Usako," he whispered on a ragged breath. Because there was no way he was going over the edge without her.

The tension was building, coiled tightly, as he reached in between them. She gasped as he pressed the pad of his thumb onto her sensitive bundle of nerves in perfect tandem with her movements. He found his release in the exact same moment that she did; his legs clenched, his muscles tightened, and with mirroring, throaty cries of relief, they both toppled into blissful relief together.

She collapsed on top of him, body trembling, hair plastered across his chest, as their labored breathing evened, and he managed to catch his breath. She still hadn't said a word as he lifted his hand, stroked her hair, and gently tucked her head beneath his chin.

He wasn't sure how long they lay there like that, his gaze fixed onto the ceiling, her body curled on top of his, their limbs intimately intertwined. It was so quiet; he was sure that she'd fallen asleep until the lilting sound of her voice broke through the silence.

"Now what, Mamoru? This is my life. I don't want to give it up."

His hand stilled from where he'd been trailing his fingers along her spine. He'd heard the haughty arrogance of Tumicho Tsukino layered beneath her words, though it was significantly muted.

Exhaling deeply, he grimaced, because he was so much closer now, and he couldn't afford to mess this up. "I don't know, Usako," he replied honestly. He was going to have to take this one day at a time. One step at a time, until the words he needed to hear spilled from her lips.

His breath hitched, and his brow creased into a thoughtful frown at the thought. Because, _maybe_, given what had just happened between them, she was ready to admit that she loved him now?

His arms tightened around her, and he hesitated for only a second before blurting the words out. "I love you, Usako."

The moments of silence that followed his declaration was deafening as he waited with bated breath for her response. Until, finally...

"Thank you."

He exhaled slowly, deflated, though not surprised by her reply. The corners of his lips quirked up into a wistful smirk as he tenderly pressed his lips onto the crown of her head as he shimmied the sheet from beneath them and covered them with it.

"Go to sleep, Usa," he murmured, smoothing her hair back from her face.

She snorted; the sound muffled in his chest. "I'm still the boss," she grumbled under her breath. "I'll go to sleep when I want to go to sleep."

He wasn't sure if she was joking, though given her petulant behavior thus far, probably not. Either way, he rolled his eyes with exasperation as the tensed muscles in her body loosened, and the steady sound of her breathing indicated that she had, in fact, fallen asleep.

He breathed a sigh of exhausted relief as he let his eyelids flutter shut, too. He was one step closer to ending this nightmare, and he was eager to banish all remnants of the ruthless Tumicho Tsukino from existence.

She sighed softly in her sleep, snuggling more deeply into his embrace, and he couldn't help but smile. It wasn't all bad, at least. And he was just happy that tonight, he was able to hold her.

**oOo**


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

"You have a deal, Sato-san," Usagi agreed, her tone and her gaze steady, as she leaned forward in her seat, slender fingers absentmindedly smoothing out the creases of her dress. "Unless you object, Kunz," she amended graciously, casting a sideways glance at a sullen-faced Kunzite, whose typical, unfiltered, hot-headed responses had seemingly been kept in check.

This was not the first transaction that he'd witnessed between the Tsukino's and the vast array of dangerous, underground criminals with varying degrees of shadiness in the past two weeks.

Usagi, true to her word, was not willing to give up this nightmarish illusion of life. Though there was a significant improvement in the cruelty factor, she was still every bit the ruthless Tumicho Tsukino.

He was treading carefully; their relationship had definitely shifted in his favor, but it was still slow-going. The stubborn staple of Usagi's personality amplified tenfold. And, pulling a confession from her lips was practically impossible, though, it was evident by her actions that she was very much in love with him. Even as Tumicho Tsukino. It was just the frustratingly complex matter of getting _her_ to actually admit it _out loud_.

Which was why he was here, once again, in yet _another _dangerous situation.

He'd become Tumicho Tsukino's personal bodyguard. Despite Kunzites vehement protests and the fact that he was apparently the only one in the Tsukino's large entourage of brooding brutes that didn't carry a gun.

Sato-san, a shifty-eyed, portly man with greying hair, leaned forward. His eyes narrowed as he warily scrutinized Usagi. His gaze sweeping over all of them before he pursed his lips and leaned back into his chair again. "I'm not sure I trust in your abilities anymore, Tumicho Tsukino," he admitted, and the room fell silent.

Mamoru inhaled sharply, inwardly groaning as the tension in the room perceptibly thickened. Which, if this was like any of the meetings he'd attended in the past two weeks, was an indication that things were about to get dangerous.

Between Usagi's pride, Kunzite's annoying tendency to go off the rails, and the small army of brutes on either side, if Sato-san wasn't careful, this situation was going to go from tension-filled to life-threatening very quickly.

Mamoru inched towards Usagi, eyeing possible ways to exit when the blonde-haired girl in question leaned forward.

Her expression was dangerous, the smile curled onto her lips a warning as she casually tilted her head to the side, and her gaze slid icily over Sato's form. "I see, Sato-san," she replied. Her tone calm, steady, and threatening. He hated to hear her speak like that. "That _is_ unfortunate," she leaned back in her chair again and exchanged a smile with Kunzite whose murderous expression had settled into a casual smirk.

_That _did not make Mamoru feel any better, and he resisted the urge to close his eyes and sigh with exasperation. He couldn't wait to get the _hell _out of this nightmare.

Judging by the tense set of everyone in the room, the way that everyone's hands seemed to be hovering above their weapons, poised and ready to attack, things were about to escalate quickly. If this had been three weeks ago before he'd intervened into Usagi's makeshift character, Tumicho Tsukino wouldn't have hesitated, and Sato-san would already be dead.

As discreetly as possible, he stepped beside her seated form, and his fingers gently grazed the top of her bared, stiffened shoulder. The movement was barely noticeable, but it was a reminder that he was here. As a true testament to how far she'd come, she relaxed, her darkening expression smoothing out into cool contemplation as she icily considered the haughty gangster in front of her.

Usagi tsked with contrived disappointment, "Very well, Sato-san," she conceded, though there was a warning underlying the tone of her voice. Mamoru's jaw clenched tightly, and he silently willed the stupid criminal to think wisely before he spoke next. "If you are no longer confident in my abilities to smuggle your merchandise through, then I suggest you look elsewhere. Though, I doubt very much that you'll find another supplier." Usagi slowly, in a calculated movement, crossed her legs and casually inspected her manicured nails before lifting her ice-cold gaze onto Sato-san, whose confidence was wavering with every word she uttered. "The Tsukino's have currently cornered the market with what you are looking for, Sato-san, and our competition?" She chuckled darkly, "Well, let's say that they're in over their heads. Those left with heads, anyway."

Mamoru inwardly grimaced, silently praying she was just using a scare tactic, though he seriously doubted it. He hoped to God that when he saved Usagi from this world, that she wouldn't be able to remember the details of the things she'd been forced to do.

Sato-san visibly swallowed, because, damn. Usagi was intense in this role, and the man cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes darting around the room to assess his current situation. Mamoru could pinpoint the exact moment Sato-san realized that he and his men were outnumbered by the expression on his face.

Usagi smiled, "It's why I can charge what I want, Sato-san. Now, if you would like this done, I'm going to ask that you pay double what was originally agreed."

Mamoru cringed because this version of Usagi made his stomach twist painfully with anger and nostalgia for his sweet, clumsy, beacon of light.

It was silent, everyone present on edge, as Sato-san mulled over his mistake. Mamoru exhaled with relief when the man, pale-faced and defeated, nodded curtly. "Yes, Tumicho Tsukino," he muttered miserably. "I agree to your terms."

Kunzite, who had managed not to speak thus far, scowled darkly; clearly disappointed with the outcome.

Usagi smiled. "Fantastic, Sato-san," she exclaimed with forced airiness as she uncurled her legs, and gracefully stood. Towering over Sato's seated form in another pair of stupid, high-heels. "We've already made arrangements. Though we had a little set back with our last shipment being confiscated, our next shipment is due to arrive in two days. You'll be contacted when we're ready to make the exchange."

Without waiting for a response, Usagi twisted on her heels to face him. He fought back the urge to roll his eyes when she winked. Instead, he raised an exasperated brow as she swept by him, leaving them to follow in her wake.

Kunzite roughly shouldered past him with a menacing glare that _did _prompt an eye roll this time as he filtered out of the room with the rest of the Kyodai.

Their meeting with Sato-san who, as far as he knew, wasn't officially affiliated with the Yakuza, had taken place in a seedier location in downtown Kyoto. Though, Mamoru noted that the people who lived here were very aware of who Usagi and Kunzite were.

Which was why pedestrians froze in their tracks as they exited the boarded up, slightly dilapidated, traditional, two-story Machiya, downcast gazes as they circled around them; giving them a wide berth.

Two sleek sedans were parked on the edge of the curb, one of them meant for Usagi and Kunzite. The silver-haired general, barely restraining his rage at Usagi's subtle shift in behavior, yanked the car door open. "Usagi, let's go," he snapped scathingly.

Usagi, fists perched on her hips that were currently enveloped in another jaw-dropping, tightly fitting, black dress, didn't move as she faced her brother.

With a tilt of her head and an unreadable expression, she shrugged. "Actually, Kunz, there's a dress shop around the corner. I want to go."

Mamoru frowned because there was no way in hell he was going to let her go to a shop, in a city filled with people who _clearly_ hated her, alone.

Kunzite, for once, was of the same mindset as his eyes widened in disbelief and his hand shook with fury above the door handle. "You're not serious?" He snapped through gritted teeth. "What the fuck is _wrong _with you lately, Usagi?" His tone seething and filled with fury. "I'm not going to a damn shop in Kyoto city. Order your fucking clothes online and get in the car!"

Mamoru held his breath in anticipation because Tumicho Tsukino would have become dangerous in the face of Kunzites open defiance. But, she was becoming less and less like the ferocious monster he hated and more like his Usako.

Instead of getting angry, she arched a golden brow coolly, "I wasn't asking for your permission, and I wasn't inviting_ you _along, either, Kunzite," she responded, her tone scathing, pert chin tilted upwards proudly.

Kunzite scoffed, shaking his head in confusion. "Unbelievable, Usagi," he hissed, "and what will happen when some grimy, gutter rat attacks you? What then?"

Usagi shrugged, flicking her wrist dismissively. "Leave the second car here, Kunzite," she commanded. "And I'm not going alone. Mamoru is coming with me."

This proved to be too much for Kunzite who, sputtering furiously, yanked the door open all the way, and without another word, slid into the car. Forcefully slamming the door shut behind him.

The other Kyodai exchanged looks of confusion before Usagi sighed and waved them away. "Well, go already," she ordered, voice firm and tinged with exasperation.

It was only when Kunzite's car pulled away, a glowering flash of his face in the window, and the rest of the Kyodai had left, that his tensed shoulders relaxed.

He met Usagi's gaze with brows raised questioningly. She was a meshed mixture of Usako and Tumicho Tsukino; impulsive, semi-petulant, with a graceful twist.

Her responding smile took his breath away, and he inhaled sharply as she moved towards him, her eyes filled with seductive promise. There was one thing that was undeniable across the board. Usagi was heart-stoppingly _beautiful._

He shook his head to clear it just as she hooked a slender arm through his. "What's the plan here, Usako?" His question was practically whispered because the sweet-smelling aroma of her shampoo, and the way she was pressed so close to his side, overwhelmed him.

She giggled, and the sound was sweet; so reminiscent of the bright-eyed girl he loved that he closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her as they began to walk.

"Why must there be a plan, Mamoru?" She responded as she laid her head against his arm, blonde, silky hair tumbling over her shoulder with the movement. "Maybe I'm just happy that I brokered a successful deal. Or maybe I just want to spend more time with you alone," she practically purred. Her tone and her words were breathy, suggestive, and they made his pulse quicken in anticipation.

He swallowed before sighing deeply, forcibly slowing their gait onwards. "It's not safe for you here, Usako," he reminded her, as his gaze scanned the fearful, resentment-filled expressions of the crowd of pedestrians they were now wading through.

Usagi shrugged, craning her neck sideways to glance over at him. "I'm not worried, Mamoru," she admitted. "You'll protect me." Her smile faded, though, and her eyes narrowed as her gaze swept over him. She halted and placed a delicate hand on his chest to stop him in his tracks.

She twisted around to face him, head tilted to the side, a look of exasperation on her face. "Mamoru, where's the gun I gave you?"

He shrugged in response, eliciting an eye-roll and a sigh from Usagi. "How are you supposed to protect yourself? You understand that you're a Tsukino Kyodai, right?" Her tone was tinged with reproachful irritation as she swiveled around and tugged him forward again.

The corner of his lips quirked up into a half-smirk, "I've been managing just fine without it, Usako," he pointed out. It was true, too. He'd managed to pull the ruthless love of his life out of more than one life-threatening situation in this nightmare without being armed.

They rounded the corner, and as they neared the shop front that she'd indicated, she peered at him sideways. Her brows knit into a contemplative frown of confusion. "I don't understand your aversion to guns and my lifestyle, Mamoru. Why are you even here if you hate it so much?" She demanded her expression bewildered and wary.

His heart skipped a beat, and he couldn't stop the warm smile that slid onto his face. "Usako," he began softly. "I'm here for you." That was _technically _the truth. He was most definitely here for her.

Her eyes widened slightly, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. He internally flinched because she wasn't ready yet. He'd made progress, and he didn't want her to pull away again.

So, he forced a smirk and a nonchalant shrug, "_That_, and I heard something about Kyodai going missing when attempting to leave the infamous Tsukino family." He was only teasing, his tone purposely light. But by the way her head snapped forward, jaw clenched, and the red tinge that swept across her cheeks, there was a hint of truth to his words that he did not care to delve into.

She shrugged impassively, though he could tell by her hardened expression as she pulled away and swept past him, that it _did _bother her.

Though he did not like that she was needlessly struggling, because thiswas a _nightmare _and she hadn't really done _any of these things, _he knew the remorse was one step closer to the Usako that would admit she loved him.

Her gait was purposeful, confident as she swept through the partially opened lattice wood door that led into a small store that was clearly family-owned. He sighed as he followed her into the small space. The racks of clothes haphazardly placed throughout the room that was thick with the smell of burning incense.

After a quick perusal of the merchandise, he wondered what had drawn Usagi to the store in the first place, as the clothes definitely did not align with the high-end, mostly revealing outfits that he'd seen her wearing in this nightmare so far.

He absentmindedly slid the material of a handmade, traditional silk kimono nearest him between his thumb and index finger; a vision of his Usako wearing something like this so much easier to imagine than the ruthless gangster that always wore heels. He couldn't help the sad, wistful smile that curled onto his lips at the image of a time when things had been so much easier.

He would gladly face all of the enemies of their past if it meant that he could get them out of this endless loop of horror in which he needed to watch Usagi be tortured in painfully unique ways over and over again.

He must have stood there for a while, lost in thought, because he was startled when Usagi laid a delicate hand on his arm, slender fingers curling gently around his wrist. He blinked, turning slightly, and lifted his gaze to meet hers.

Blonde brows knit, her head tilted to the side, curiosity shining from the depths of her eyes as she met his gaze. "Do you like that kimono?" Her tone was inquisitive, though there was something he couldn't quite pinpoint in her voice. Uncertainty, maybe? "You're staring at it pretty intently."

He felt the heat rise up into his face and pulled away, releasing the fabric of the kimono that he was still clutching between his fingertips. "Yeah, it's pretty," he responded under his breath, averting his gaze, lifting his hand to scratch at the back of his head nervously. This would all be so much easier if he could just tell her that this wasn't real.

In one swift movement, Usagi leaned forward, her hair sweeping across his arms and face as she pulled the garment off of the rack. "I like it too," she exclaimed with a petulant tilt of her chin, a determined glint in her eyes.

The look elicited an amused smile from him, and he raised a brow in question. "Usako, I've never seen you wear anything remotely like this," he chuckled, his tone soft and teasing.

To his absolute delight, a pink blush of embarrassment swept across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. It was so much like _his _Usako that he needed to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss her.

She frowned, annoyed, as she abruptly pulled away with a huff. "How would you _know," _she snapped, swiveled around so that her back was facing him, the kimono clutched in her hands, with arms crossed. "You've known me for a whole _twenty-five _seconds, Mamoru."

He rolled his eyes, a small smile of exasperation on his lips, because Usagi, in this nightmare, was such a strange array of emotions. It was challenging to keep up with the roller coaster that was an odd mixture of menacing, ruthless, and then guilt-ridden, pink-faced, and insecure. If this were real, he had no doubt that before he'd arrived, Tumicho Tsukino would have scoffed with a sneer. Or, shot him dead.

Either way, he was grateful that this wasn't real, and that the staples of her personality, even the insecure, uncertain pieces_, _were shining through.

His smile widened, and he decided to take a risk as he took the step to close the gap between them, pulled her against him, chest pressed against her back, and enveloped her slender waist in his arms.

He heard her inhale sharply as he swept her hair aside and pressed his lips along the slender curve of her neck. "Best _twenty-five seconds _ever, Usako," he murmured huskily, brushing his lips across her ear, smiling against her skin when he felt her shudder against him.

They were interrupted suddenly by a loud, terror-tinged gasp, and he lifted his head towards the source of the sound. He felt Usagi's body tense in his arms, and he frowned at the sight of an elderly woman. She had a slightly stooped figure, slumped shoulders and grey hair pulled back tightly into a severe-looking bun. It was the wide-eyed fear of her expression that caught his attention, though, as she bent even lower, visibly trembling in front of them.

Usagi pulled away from him by stepping forward, and the woman flinched, afraid, and Usagi froze. "Tumicho Tsukino," she stuttered, the sound brittle and broken. "It is a — a— pleasure to have you in my small, modest store. Please, take whatever you want."

The realization that the storekeeper's terror was because she recognized Usagi made his stomach churn as his heart twisted painfully in the cavity of his chest.

He cast a sideways glance at Usagi, scrutinizing her reaction. Would she be Tumicho Tsukino who would callously dismiss the woman and take what she wanted? Or the budding brightness of his vulnerable Usa, who was internally struggling with her remorse?

He exhaled slowly, relieved, as her face paled, her fists clenched, and the internal anguish was evident as it flashed from behind china-blue eyes. "If I want something, I'll buy it," she snapped. Her curt response was more than likely elicited from the pained self-realization of how much terror she'd instilled as Tumicho Tsukino. _He _knew that, but the woman did not, and she cringed, hastily tripping over her feet as she took a step back.

Even in heels, the Usagi of this world was ridiculously graceful, and she was quick to stride forward and steady the woman before she fell. "God, there's no need to be _dramatic,_" Usagi muttered under her breath, the pink blush on her face deepening into an embarrassed crimson-red hue. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just here to look at your clothes and maybe _buy _something."

The woman pulled away, sheepish, nodding vehemently, "Yes, of course," she stuttered as she backed away slowly, waving her arm in invitation. "Anything you want, Tumicho Tsukino. There's a change room there if you need it," she offered and pointed to a small stall behind her. The doorway was fitted with a red cloth curtain spread across a makeshift wrought iron pole. "If-if-if you need me, I'll be in the back office over there."

The woman was more mobile than he'd surmised as she retreated quickly into the room she'd indicated. It was painful to see the way Usagi stood stock-still, staring after the woman with clenched fists and a rare unguarded look of devastation on her face.

In the past two weeks, he'd learned a lot about the right way to handle Usagi in this nightmare. So, he knew that she had a veritably volatile disposition, and he needed to tread carefully.

What he really wanted to do was pull her into his arms, tell her she didn't have to feel this way if only she admitted that she loved him. Instead, he fixed a smirk on his face, bent over to pick up the kimono that she'd dropped in her haste to steady the shopkeeper, and held it out to her.

He cleared his throat, startling her out of her daze. "Well?" He asked brow raised sardonically. "I thought you were going to try this on because you liked it?"

It was silent, as her frown deepened and her eyes flicked back and forth between the kimono in his hand to his face. It took a moment as she mulled over her feelings, but her tensed shoulders relaxed and the coy, seductive grin that he'd seen more than once here, curled onto the ample, pink-tinged, curves of her lips.

She closed the gap between them, her movements slow, enticing, with a very purposeful sway of her hips, as she curled the fingers of one hand into the fabric of the silk kimono and the front of his shirt with the other.

Usagi was much shorter than him, and usually, he towered over her. But with her heels, she was as tall as he was; which meant that not only was her face level with his but so were the angled curves of her hips. He barely managed to maintain the teasing, blank expression on his face when she pulled him forward, pressed herself flush against him, and tilted her head ever so slightly so that her lips hovered beside his ear.

His hand automatically pressed against the small of her back, and his breath hitched in his throat at the sound of her whispered, sultry voice. "Want to help me put it on?"

There was no time for the words to register, much less respond, before she laughed, pulled him forward and they stumbled through the red curtain into the tiny change room stall.

One moment he was ready to protest because his Usako would have never done something this bold, and the next he was lost in a lust-filled haze. Because, damn. She was so _intoxicating _as she pressed him up against the wood-paneled wall. Her lips moving in a practiced, groan-inducing, way against his. Her hands exploring the hardened planes of his body, as his fingers wove through the glorious, silken locks of hair at the back of her head.

He was on the verge of shifting their positions, and if he'd been of sound mind and not completely lost in the enticing feeling of her body pressed intimately against his, he probably would have been embarrassed by the fact that he was fully prepared to push her against the wall, and take her right there. Luckily, the loud trilling sound of a ringing phone interrupted them.

She pulled away, breathless, their gazes locked as she reached into the discreetly sewn-in pocket of her dress, and pulled out her phone.

She didn't break eye contact with him as she expertly swiped her thumb across the screen and pressed the phone to her ear.

He smiled, tenderly caressed the side of her face, as the tip of her tongue darted out to lick her lips before she answered. "What?"

Her voice was curt, filled with irritation at the interruption, as her arm curled around his neck, her fingers twisting in the hair at the back of his head.

He pressed a hand onto her bare thigh, prepared to hoist it around his waist when her body stiffened, and all of the passionate ferocity from a moment before was gone. With a sharp, angry inhale, she placed a hand on his shoulder to push him away.

He frowned, stepped back, studying the furious expression on her face curiously. "What do you mean? When did they get there?"

He could hear the muffled chords of someone, probably Kunzite, on the other line.

Her hand shook as her fingers visibly tightened around her phone. "Stall them, Kunz. I'll be there soon."

Without another word, she pulled the phone away from her ear, and the telltale click as the screen locked resonated from it as she stuffed it back into her pocket.

He frowned, internal alarm bells going off as her entire disposition hardened and she reverted back into the dreaded Tumicho Tsukino.

He inwardly cursed as he took a step back, though, it was hard to put any distance in between them enclosed in this small space.

"What's wrong, Usako?"

His breath caught in his throat, and he swore his heart stopped when her eyes steadily met his.

"We have to go," she snapped, her tone crisp and impersonal. "The cops are about to raid the manor."

Up until that moment, he'd forgotten that he was supposedly a cop in this world. It was hard to keep his expression neutral at the stone-cold reminder, though, and suddenly he knew with a heart-stopping intensity, that this was not going to end well for him.

**oOo **

The dread that he'd felt twinge in his chest the moment Usagi's facial expression hardened, coldly sweeping past him in the store, unfurled into something pulsating and practically unbearable as he pulled the black sedan up the manor's winding driveway.

The silence in the car on the drive back had been tension-filled and nerve-wracking as Usagi sat quietly seething beside him in the passenger seat. Her expression dark, brooding, as she'd fixed her gaze on the moving scenery outside of the car window.

Any words that he might have spoken caught in his throat and tangled in webbed threads of worry. Because, his sixth sense, the one that always alerted him to potential danger, twisted with warning in the pit of his stomach.

He'd only just managed to shift the car into park when Usagi's fingers curled around the handle, she roughly pushed the door open, and gracefully slid out of the vehicle. Her movements fluid and filled with urgency.

He grimaced, clutched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened as he mentally collected himself in preparation for the next twist. The next obstacle that had been expertly crafted to throw a wrench into his progress. Because, if he'd learned anything since the nightmares had started, it was that this was all a game; a test of horrors meant to make things harder for them.

He didn't let his mind linger with frustration on the potential motives this time as he opened his own door and lengthened his strides to catch up with Usagi that had already made halfway down the drive towards the manor's entrance.

His eyes briefly scanned over the multiple police cruisers that lined the driveway, and his heart rate kicked it up a notch, whether from adrenaline or dread, as they entered through the untraditional, double-wide reinforced steel entryway into the manor's genkan.

Usagi looked every bit the powerful gangster that she was supposed to be; muscles tightened and coiled with powerful, practiced strides in a black dress, heels and a determined, fury-filled expression that he could see instilling the fear that his Usako did not deserve, but that Tumicho Tsukino had rightfully earned.

Strangely, the hall was devoid of the usual comings and goings of the Shatei, Kyodai and the endless army of servants that were always flitting about underfoot, always on hand to serve the Tsukino's.

They _did _pass several uniformed officers that were moving just as purposefully, gloved, determination on their faces as they tore apart the hall. Carelessly tossing things aside, pulling drawers from the decorative mahogany desks that lined the walls, tipping chairs, lifting the rugs lining the polished wooden floors. It was a chaotic flurry of men and women in uniform, armed in bulletproof vests.

Usagi halted, gasping with indignant outrage as her face reddened with fury, her entire form stiffened and her hands balled into fists pressed angrily at her sides. Damn. This was not good, and it only just occurred to him that he probably should have spent some time communicating his 'progress' with the ruthless Tumicho to Ami. Obviously, he didn't know the first thing about being an undercover cop, and he muttered an irritated curse at the setback as he stepped forward and tentatively placed a reassuring hand on the tensed small of her back.

She only glanced at him briefly before turning back towards the chaos. Her lips pressed into a grim, hard-set line on her face. "Excuse me," she hissed, and though her tone hadn't raised a single octave, the nearest officers froze at the sound as they flicked their widened, hate-filled gazes onto her. "Who's in charge here?"

Her fury laced demand fell on deaf ears as she was purposely ignored, as they turned, and continued to ransack the room. Mamoru's eyes narrowed in irritated disbelief as he noted the way Usagi sputtered, her hand automatically flying to the curve of her hip for the gun that was no longer there.

His jaw clenched, internally screaming at this unwelcome interruption in his plan to pull Usagi away from the constricting ropes of this nightmare and the life constructed for her. _This_, he was certain, would only serve to draw her more firmly_ into it._

"I'm in charge, Tsukino."

Mamoru inhaled sharply, his gaze snapping up towards the source of the harshly uttered words that were _very _familiar. _Dammit. _It was Ami, and it required a hefty dose of will-power and inner strength to keep his expression utterly neutral as the uniform-clad bluenette approached, exuding all of the authority and hard-faced aura of a cop. She was everything that Ami, in real life, was not; confident, smug, with a cold sneer curled onto the curve of her lips.

He was very happy that Usagi's back was towards him, because he was sure that his face was pale, and the look in his eyes filled with a recognition that she probably would have noticed.

As it stood, Ami knew what she was doing because her eyes flicked towards him for a brief, nondescript second before settling back on a tense, veritably angry Usagi.

Usako wore her heart on her sleeve. She was practically incapable of withholding her reactions to the strong emotions that swelled within her. So, when she loved something, it was likely that she'd be a ball of gushing brightness, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. It was the same when she was angry. Unable to contain it, she was usually an adorable, foot-stomping, red-faced ball of energy that was unable to withhold the ranting words of injustice that would have spilled, unbidden, from her lips. She was dramatic in the very best ways.

Tumicho Tsukino's character, though, had managed to suppress that perfectly beautiful flaw in the love of his life. So, his heart constricted painfully in his chest as he watched her coiled muscles relax, a smooth, practiced smirk slide onto her face as she condescendingly swept her eyes along Ami's form. It was a slow, calculated look that ended with a low, breathy chuckle that indicated that Ami had been judged and undeniably found wanting.

It visibly shook the bluenette, who faltered slightly under her stare, before she hardened her resolve, a furious red-tinge on her cheeks.

Usagi sighed, propped one hand on her hip as she slowly inspected her nails on the other. The picture of disinterest as she cast a lofty glance back at Ami. "Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "I think I know you. You're that cop. The one with the vendetta because your boyfriend _happened _to die in an accident involving my brother," she drawled, and Mamoru closed his eyes for a second, inhaling deeply at yet _another _horrible revelation. "What was his name? Zempai? Zenkou?" She was very clearly prodding Ami, and it was _working. _

The pain-filled, thunderous expression on Ami's face was heart-wrenching to see. "_Zoisite," _she rasped, her voice trembling with fury as she took a step closer to Usagi. "And it _wasn't _an accident, you heartless—"

Usagi's trilling laugh interrupted her. "What do you _want, _officer? You have no grounds to _be _here." Her tone was forceful, filled with a smug certainty that made Mamoru want to groan.

Ami's angry disposition softened, however, at Usagi's admonishment and a victorious, smug smile of her own crossed her lips. "Actually, Tsukino, we do." Her tone was bright, confident. "We have a warrant to search the premises as there is _significant _evidence that suggests that you're harboring wanted criminal Aino Minako."

Usagi's unruffled expression did falter at that, and a small, annoyed frown creased onto her brow. "I'm not sure who that is," she replied through gritted teeth.

Ami's knowing smile widened. "I think you do, Tsukino. And, well, if we _happen _to find anything else in the process of searching for her…" The blunette trailed off with a casual shrug. "Why don't you go join your brother in the ostentatious atrocity that you call a dining room, Tsukino? This will be over soon."

Usagi didn't have time to respond as Ami swept by her before stopping directly in front of him. He swallowed nervously, his jaw clenched as he peered down into Ami's swirling aquamarine eyes, inwardly praying that the former Senshi of intelligence didn't give him away.

Unexpectedly, the blunette grinned, and his eyes widened in shock as she pressed herself against him. "I will say this, Tsukino," she quipped, "your underlings are definitely getting better looking."

He internally cringed at the look of pure unadulterated anger that flashed across Usagi's expression as Ami trailed her hand down his chest, discreetly maneuvering her hands under the fabric of his jacket, before winking, shooting a satisfied smirk towards Usagi, and striding away without looking back.

Usagi practically growled, her eyes filled with jealousy-tinged rage as her gaze, burning hotly, lingered murderously on Ami's retreating form. "What. The. Hell." She hissed, her fists clenched at her sides.

Mamoru knew that the display had been contrived. Meant as more than just a way to annoy the powerful, infuriating Tumicho Tsukino—Though if the expression on Usagi's face was any indication, she'd definitely succeeded _at that—_He knew this because he'd felt when Ami's deft movements had managed to slip an item into his jacket pocket. Whatever it was, it felt like it was burning a hole through the thick material into his hip.

Gracefully, as usual in this nightmare, Usagi twisted towards him and grasped his arm. Her expression was still angry as she tugged him forward. "Let's go find my brother, Mamoru," she said through gritted teeth.

It never occurred to him not to follow, but his eyes were decidedly cool as he walked beside her, his movements brisk. Internally, he was just frustrated because he hated to see a blatantly cruel Usagi, and he was annoyed that he was going to have to backtrack, once again. Of course, Usa had no way of knowing what he was thinking, and he frowned when she halted, stopping them both in the middle of the empty hallway, just beyond the threshold of the dining room,

Her expression was sullen, petulant almost, as she glared at him. "I had nothing to do with that cop, Mamoru," she defended, a blush reddening her cheeks, her chin tilted up proudly. Her confession managed to catch him off guard, so he simply raised a brow in question, which only managed to annoy her more.

She yanked her hand away from him, and his heart skipped a beat because God help him, she actually _stomped her foot. _"I didn't, Mamoru! It actually _was _an accident, so you can stop looking at me with those stupid judgy blue eyes!"

This hadn't been a setback, after all. Because there was no way in hell Tumicho Tsukino would be defending her actions, adorably pink-cheeked and indignant, to a lowly Kyodai. He couldn't answer her, his words caught in his throat, along with the breath of pure elated relief at the realization.

His non-responsiveness, however, only served to annoy her further. "You know what?" She hissed, "Forget it! I _did _shoot that cop, or whatever. I did it in stupid, cold blood. And I was laughing at the time. And the sun was shining! What do you think about _that_, you judgmental, self-righteous, bak—"

She was lying, embarrassed, _ranting _like the beautiful, bright-eyed Usako that she was, and he was so damn relieved that he couldn't help but reach out, pull her into his arms, and interrupt her sulky tirade with lips pressed firmly onto hers. He'd caught her off guard, so her lips parted on a breathless gasp of surprise, which effectively made it easier for him to deepen their kiss. It was only a moment before her arms curled around his neck, and she reciprocated with the passionate ferocity he'd become very well acquainted with in this world.

When they pulled apart, her eyes were wide, confused, and she unsteadily took a step backward and shook her head as if to clear it. "You're confusing as hell, Chiba," she muttered, tone tinged with confusion, as she twisted around to face the dining room doorway.

The corners of his lips quirked up into an amused smirk as he watched her inhale deeply, straighten her shoulders in preparation for the Tumicho Tsukino character that he was now _sure _was a façade, and stride with purpose through the door.

He moved to follow her, but not before he noticed a flash of blue from out of the corner of his eye. He quickly glanced sideways and internally groaned. Because there, just beyond the doorway, was Ami. Her eyes wide, filled with horror, as her piercing stare bore into him. _Damn. _She'd seen the kiss. He was sure of it, and he tried to convey a look that was akin to something reassuring, but before he could, she twisted back around and disappeared from the threshold.

He didn't have time to dwell on it, though he did feel that knotted dread twinge once again, as he slipped through the intricately etched door after Usagi.

She was the fiery Tumicho in heels again, as she halted in her tracks, hot glare boring down into a seated Kunzite whose demeanor was annoyingly casual as he leaned back, and peered up at his sister with a smirk fixed onto his face.

Usagi practically trembled in her rage. "Mamoru, shut the door behind you," she ordered, her words trembling in their fury-filled intensity.

Wordlessly, he reached over and shut the door. The resounding click echoed around the room that was vacant except for the three of them, and Mamoru crossed his arms and leaned back against it. He wasn't sure what he was planning to do if Ami, or another one of the cops, tried to open it, but the movement was symbolic all the same. He was there for her, no matter what, and Usagi nodded in approval before stalking towards Kunzite who scoffed with disgust.

Usagi exhaled slowly, reigning in her emotions in a way that Usako would never have been able to do before she spoke. "Tell me that you weren't stupid enough to keep that blonde-haired twit of a cop around after we were done with her?"

Her words were dripping with reproach, and a muscle in his jaw popped because he'd clenched it so tightly at her words. He quietly reminded himself that she was only pretending right now, and if she wasn't, it wasn't her fault.

Kunzites nostrils flared as his eyes flashed with indignant outrage. His shoulders and body stiffened as he leaned forward in his chair. "You're fucking kidding me, right?" He raged. "So, you get to keep a _plaything,_" he gestured towards Mamoru, "but I don't?"

While Mamoru didn't particularly enjoy being referred to as a plaything, he wisely kept his mouth shut as Usagi bristled, clearly outraged, at Kunzite's less than remorseful response. "You _stupid _idiot!" She growled. "That isn't the same thing, and you _know _it, Kunz!" Usagi's voice had risen an octave, and he shifted nervously, hopeful that her words weren't loud enough to be heard beyond this door. "She's a rogue cop that killed another cop in broad daylight to help a convicted criminal, _that was about to give them everything they needed on us, _escape!"

He bit back a grimace at that harshly uttered statement because, technically, Kunzite was right. It was the same thing… they just didn't know it.

Kunzite practically growled as he shot out of the dining room chair. The movement abrupt enough to send it crashing onto the floor with a loud and resounding thud. "She's _mine,_" he snarled, hands balling into fists as he faced her with all the fury and menacing rage of the dark and dangerous Oyabun Tsukino. "I'm not an idiot, Usagi. Of course, she isn't here. Though if she were, I'd fucking kill every single cop here to protect us. Just like you would have when you weren't acting like a weak, pathetic _rat." _

Kunzite's words were chilling, and Usagi's response must have been purely on instinct as she lifted her hand and slapped him across the face. The sickening sound of her open palm connecting with his skin reverberated around the room, the forceful impact forcibly craning his neck to the side.

Kunzite's eyes were wide with disbelief for a moment as he stepped back. They quickly filled with rage, though, as a snarled growl tore from his throat, and he lifted his fist to strike her.

Mamoru was acting purely on instinct now, too, and he was quick to close the distance between them, stepping between Usagi and Kunzite as he caught his descending fist in his hand. "_I'll _kill you first, _Oyabun _Tsukino." His words were angry, reckless, but he couldn't help the way his body tensed and coiled in preparation to protect Usagi, no matter where they were. He may not have been granted the powers of Tuxedo Kamen here, but he could feel the latent abilities simmering just beneath the surface. And, he was _always _going to be the prince that needed to protect his princess.

Kunzite must have felt something too because his temper cooled significantly as their gazes locked into a challenging stare that neither of them was willing to lose.

The white-haired general yanked his hand away from him, stepped back, and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Do you really think I'd hurt my sister?" He was backpedaling, his rage dissipated just enough that what he'd almost done flashed from behind icy blue eyes with regret. "You don't know her like I do."

Mamoru swallowed around the lump of anger in his throat, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he steadily faced him. "You're _wrong," _he replied. "I've known—" He barely managed to stop himself, snapping his mouth shut in time before he blurted the whole truth out. There was no way he was going to start this hell over again.

Kunzite smirked, scoffing as his stance softened, though there was still an ice-filled hatred shining from his eyes. "Move aside, Kyodai," he sneered, "I have something important to discuss with my sister, and I need you to get the fuck out of here."

Mamoru shook his head. There was no way in hell he was leaving her. He was prepared to fight his former friend, when Usagi laid a hand on his arm, startling him.

He met her gaze over his shoulder, and his heart skipped a beat at the soft, tender-filled look in her eyes. Her eyes were bright, her expression grateful. _Usako. _He wished, more than anything, she would just tell him that she loved him so he could save her from this.

"Mamoru, It's okay," she assured softly, "I need you to leave so I can talk to my brother privately."

When her words registered through longing-filled thoughts, his eyes widened, and he shook his head, sputtering in disbelief. "Usako, he was about to _hit _you," he growled incredulously.

Usagi smiled, "To be fair, I hit him first," she pointed out, but that did _not _make him feel any better. She rolled her eyes and sighed when he didn't budge, "Please, Mamoru. I'll be fine." It was the pleading note in her voice that made him reluctantly concede.

He wanted to lean over and kiss her, but he settled with comfortingly squeezing her hand. "I'll be just outside the door if you need me," he reassured, and forcibly ignored Kunzites scornful bark of laughter as he moved towards the door.

Kunzites final taunt made him freeze, hand poised on the handle. "What would you even do without a gun, Kyodai?"

Mamoru's vision blurred with anger, and his expression was hard, laced with deadly promise as he steadily met Kunzites eyes over his shoulder. "I don't need a gun to kill you, Kunzite," he replied before slipping through the door.

He didn't know how the nightmares truly worked, and he'd spent so much time pulling the darkness from Usagi that he'd forgotten about keeping his in check. Which was evident by the fact that he was one hundred percent sure that he truly, uncharacteristically, meant those words.

**oOo**

It was late by the time the cops finished what they'd come to do, and though Mamoru hated to admit it, he was secretly relieved to see the disappointed slump in Ami's shoulders and the sullen defeat glinting from her eyes as she, and her brigade, vacated the premises. It meant that they'd found nothing, and he still had time to work on pulling a confession from Usagi. Which would be infinitely harder to do if she was behind bars and aware that he was supposedly a cop, too.

Usagi had been silent, her expression thoughtful, miserably stoic as if she were contemplating something important when she'd left the dining room with Kunzite. Not only that, but he couldn't help but notice the way she'd purposefully avoided his gaze as they restored some semblance of reassured normalcy with the underlings who magically reappeared after the raid.

Then, when she'd swept from the room without a glance his way, he couldn't help the nervous feeling that unfurled in his chest as he watched her go. Something was wrong. Which was only emphasized by the way Kunzite sneered smugly at him from amidst a group of Kyodai that were circled around him.

His stomach was churning, tension coiled nervously in the stiffened muscles of his neck and shoulders by the time he made it through the other Kyodai and found himself standing outside of her bedroom door. She was at the point where she would have waited for him, and the fact that she hadn't wasn't a good sign. _What the hell had Kunzite said to her?_

Every night for the past week, he'd entered her room without knocking. Tonight, though, when he twisted the handle, it was locked. His breath hitched, and the small twinge of uncertainty and dread exploded and spread throughout him. The mixture of emotions and the images of what obstacle could have possibly been wrenched into his path this time spurred him to throw caution to the wind as he angrily wrapped his fingers on the door.

She didn't answer right away, but he knew that she was in there. He could hear her shuffling movements on the other side. "Usagi," he snapped, angry, frustrated, and so damn exhausted with wading through the never-ending horrors in this world. "Open the door. I know you're in there."

Tumicho Tsukino would have never opened the door at the sound of a bitterly whispered command. So, he was relieved a little bit when he heard the telltale sound of the lock twisting in the brass handle, before the door opened, revealing Usagi, who peered up at him, her face pale, blue eyes glistening miserably, and her lips pressed into a hard, grim line.

She was significantly shorter, barefoot and vulnerable as she stepped back, giving him room to pass. She didn't say a word when she closed the door behind him, her room dimly-lit, as he faced her, his eyes searching her face for some kind of clue that might prepare him for what the hell was going on with her.

He inhaled slowly, raking his fingers through his hair. "Usako, why didn't you wait for me?"

She shrugged, arms crossed, as she turned her head to the side. Fixing her gaze onto something obscure and unimportant on the wall beside her. "If I want to see you, Chiba, rest assured that I'll call for you." He was sure that she'd meant her tone to sound haughty and in control. If so, she'd failed miserably, because there was no bite behind the miserably whispered words. Only a heavy tone of despair that ripped at him. What the hell was wrong with her?

He closed the gap between them, cradled her face in his hands, and forcibly turned it towards him. She seemed so much smaller, more exposed, without the heels that she'd been wearing earlier, and he wanted to kiss her, shield her, tell her everything was going to be okay.

Instead, he lowered his head, his face inches from hers as he curiously studied her expression. "Usako, please," he pleaded, "tell me what's wrong. What did Kunzite say to you when I left the room?"

The possibilities were _endless. _This was a nightmare, after all, and the monsters that controlled it were getting crafty. So, the things he was imagining _—had she discovered that he was a cop?— _were coursing through his head at an alarming rate.

One imagined situation was more horrible than the next. So, he was surprised by her response. "Makoto is back, Mamoru," she explained as if that answered _any _of his unasked questions. While he was relieved to hear that his one ally in this tumultuous pit of hell was back safe and sound, it still did not explain Usagi's newfound reticence.

His brow furrowed in confusion. Was she still unnecessarily jealous of Makoto? He'd been very clear that he was in love with her. In fact, he'd whispered it to her every single night in the hopes of a reciprocating admission, so it couldn't be that.

He shook his head and trailed his hands slowly down the slender curve of her neck, across the tops of her shoulders, down the length of her arms, to settle comfortably on her hips. "Okay, Usako," he murmured tentatively. "Why are you upset that she's back?"

Usagi's expression darkened, and the remorse-filled despair that washed over her face made his breath hitch in his throat. "Because she brought Asahi back with her." She swallowed miserably, sour expression as she steadily met his gaze. "Alive, Mamoru."

This made sense to Mamoru because he could not imagine Jupiter having the stomach or the disposition to kill anyone despite the role she was being forced to play here. What didn't make sense to him was Usagi's harsh reaction to it.

Mamoru's frown of confusion deepened as his hands moved to the small of her back, urging her closer, curling her lithe form into his arms, while her hands bunched, almost desperately, into the fabric of his shirt.

He brushed his lips across her forehead, eliciting a shudder. "I'm not sure I catch your drift here, Usako. Why are you so upset?"

The smell of her shampoo, the way her body was pressed flush against his, and even the way her breath fanned warmly across his chin were beginning to overwhelm his senses, and he wanted nothing more than to sweep down, haul her into his arms and carry her to bed.

She sighed softly, almost too quiet for him to have heard the sound. "Because, Mamoru," she whispered. "Kunzite wants me to make an example of him for abandoning us. I have to kill him in front of the other Kyodai."

It was like she'd injected ice into his veins, and he froze, pulling back to stare down at her in disbelieving horror. "You're kidding, right?" He choked because this wasn't Tumicho Tsukino anymore. This was his Usako that he was talking to, and despite what he knew about her here in this world, the thought of watching her coldly kill anyone in a preplanned, calculated manner made the bile rise unbidden in his throat. "You don't have to do anything, Usako. Especially not that."

He was sure that she was acting torn, miserable, and withdrawn because she'd obviously said no, and she was afraid of Kunzite's retribution. Until she tilted her head up, and her deadpan, determined expression, along with the memory of Kunzites victory filled sneer, told him otherwise. _No. _There was no way that he could stomach letting her _do _this, and he muttered harshly spat expletives as he tore away from her angrily.

Her expression remained unchanged as her hands fell limply to her sides, and he shook his head in denial. "No, Usagi. Fuck. You can't do _this_," he pleaded desperately, furiously raking his fingers through his hair.

Usagi's eyes welled with unshed tears of frustration as she balled her hands into fists and narrowed her eyes, fixing them on his face. "What is your _problem, _Mamoru?" She demanded hoarsely. "You knew what I was when I brought you here. This is _my _life, and the Kyodai are whispering rumors about how _weak _I am."

He couldn't stand this. He needed her to see reason, and he strode towards her, and roughly grasped her by the shoulders. His eyes wide, beseeching, as he shook her slightly, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of her arms. "Then,_ let them_ whisper, Usako," he rasped. "Please. You're so much more than this." He was begging her now, and he didn't care. He couldn't stand it anymore. Usagi was purity personified. The most forgiving soul he knew. This would kill her if she realized what she'd been forced to do. Fake or not.

With a gasp of outrage, Usagi lifted her hands and roughly pushed him away. The raw, vulnerable tears of pain slid listlessly down her cheeks even as she glared up at him. "You said that what I've done didn't matter to you," she choked, her small form trembling angrily. "You said you loved me, and that you understood! I can't let this slide anymore, Mamoru. I have to be strong."

Oh, God. He'd genuinely thought he'd been making progress, but the monsters had really outdone themselves when creating this character for the light of his life. He couldn't breathe, because, damn. She couldn't even begin to understand what this meant for her.

He swallowed, carefully considering his words as he faced her. "Usako, I said that what you'd done didn't matter because it doesn't if you're trying to do better," he whispered, his tone filled with threads of pleading supplication. He _needed _her to _understand_. "Don't you get it?" His tone was brittle, desperate. "_Killing_ _him_ would be weak. Forgiving him is what takes strength."

She didn't say a word, though her lower lip quivered as she met his gaze. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, and with a groan, he cradled her face again, pleased that she didn't pull away.

He wanted this to be over. He was done with this world. It was time to get them out of here. "Usako," he murmured, his lips mere inches from hers. "Do you love me?"

He waited, breath held, their gazes fixed onto each other when she slowly shook her head. "No," she stated with a finality that tore him apart. "I can't love someone that doesn't accept me for who I am. And I am Tumicho Tsukino, Mamoru." Every word she uttered was like a knife twisting into his heart. This was _not_ who she was. "I'm going to do this whether you like it or not."

He studied her resolute expression for a moment more, his heart aching with defeat before he pulled away and swallowed past the lump of pain constricting his throat. "I can't stand to see you like this," he breathed, his tone anguished because it was true. This was so fucking painful to watch unfold in front of him.

He didn't say a word as he pulled away from her, avoided her gaze, and wrenched the door open, wordlessly striding out into the hallway. She didn't follow or call out to him, and he didn't look back.

He needed time to regroup. To figure out a new plan of action, because what he was doing clearly wasn't working. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to figure it out fast. Because if she killed Asahi tomorrow, he didn't know how he was going to pull her back from that.

**oOo**

The first thing he did when he miserably made it into the dark interior of the assigned room he rarely used now, was to pull out the item that Ami had slipped into his pocket. It was an ancient, prepaid, flip-phone. Probably a burner, and more than likely a way for Ami to communicate with him.

After carefully inspecting it only to find nothing of interest in the messages or call history, he sighed and tossed it onto the small, crookedly placed table beside his bed where it fell onto its scuffed surface with a resounding thud.

He couldn't dwell on what he was going to do about Ami right now. First, he needed to figure out what he was going to do about his set back with Usagi.

The rest of the night was spent restlessly; tossing and twisting in cold, crumpled sheets. Horrifying images flashing through his barely unconscious mind… nightmares within a damn nightmare. He woke often, the time ticking by at an unbearably slow rate, his eyes flicking towards his closed door often. He was secretly torn between the hope that Usagi would give in and show up at his door versus his need for her to stay away. To give him space to think clearly and devise something semi-practical so that he wasn't just wading around like an idiot trying to figure out his next move.

Either way, he was not in a great place the next morning when he peeled himself out of bed, forcibly ignored the dull throbbing ache at the base of his skull, and readied himself to face whatever the hell kind of horrors had been lined up for him and his puppeteered friends today.

He half expected someone to fetch him and escort him from the room to wherever it was that Usagi wanted him placed next. He wasn't, though, and he supposed that he should be grateful with the progress he'd made in that _way _at least. He'd earned enough trust to have been granted the ability to roam freely and unsupervised.

He was still exhausted when he left his room, and his mind wasn't as sharp as it should have been. So, it took him a moment to understand why there was a gathering group of Kyodai and Shatei, making their way down the hall and onto the Veranda.

He inhaled sharply and the blood drained from his face as he stepped back, his eyes wildly darting from one somber-faced expression to the next. It elicited a sickening feeling that blossomed in the pit of his stomach with the rising panic coursing through him. He wasn't sure why he'd assumed that he was going to have more time to handle this. He'd wanted to find and speak with Makoto before Usagi and Kunzite went through with _anything_, but it looked like it was too late now. Because there was only one reason the Kyodai would be gathering like this; a demonstration or an order from Kunzite to witness a show of power.

He spat out a harshly muttered curse, barreling through the door and two sneering-faced brutes before making his way out onto the veranda. Kunzite and Usagi were nowhere to be seen, so he let himself hope, for just a moment, that he was wrong before he spotted the familiar stiffened shoulders and chestnut brown hair that belonged to Makoto.

When the Senshi of Jupiter whirled around to face him, his heart clenched and his breath caught in his throat at the look on her face. It wasn't enough that her appearance itself was ragged, pale complexion, dark, bruise-like circles just above gaunt angled cheekbones. It was the haunted, burden-filled look glistening from the muted green glint in her eyes. Makoto had been pulled through something dark in this nightmare, and he was loathed to find out what it was.

Her expression remained unchanged as he sidled up next to her, his heart pounding, his palms clammy as he swallowed past the nervous lump in his throat and bravely met her gaze; a clash of broken-hearted green and wary cobalt blue.

She exhaled, shook her head, shoulders slumped with sadness. "I tried to stall for as long as I could, Mamoru," she whispered, her tone filled with regret. "But I wasn't alone."

He wanted to ask her more about it, to find out what had happened to instill that pained look in her eyes, but he was forced to snap his mouth shut, automatically stiffening, as the low, bone-chilling baritone of Kunzites arrogant voice rang out over the crowd.

"The Tsukino's have _always _been a force to be reckoned with," he began, and Mamoru's gaze snapped towards the front of the crowd of men that had suddenly gone silent. He didn't miss the apprehension-filled looks exchanged around him. Usagi had been right about one thing. The Kyodai and the Shatei had apparently faltered in their unwavering fear of the Tsukino's.

It didn't faze the silver-haired general, whose arrogance and need for attention drove him to continue. "I know it might _seem _like things have been a bit _unsteady _with Tumicho Tsukino lately," he placated, icy blue eyes flashing coldly as they briefly swept over Mamoru. "And, it's really been truly _disheartening _to hear that some of you are under the impression that this momentary lapse in my sister's disposition might be an opportunity for you to take your leave from the comforting folds of the Tsukino family." Kunzites words were truncated, piercing, and the more he spoke, the more terrifying he sounded.

The unspoken threat intensified the silence around him, wary eyes fixed onto the man who had, up until this point, been second to the more terrifying Tumicho Tsukino.

The snake-like smile that slid onto Kunzites lips made Mamoru's stomach churn. "You all remember our friend Asahi?" Kunzite lifted his chin, nodding sharply with a gesture of his hand.

There was a synchronized shift of bodies and whispers as the group turned towards where Kunzite had indicated. The bile rose in Mamoru's throat, and Makoto stiffened beside him at the sight of Asahi, the man who'd once been a bruting, dangerous, muscled underling that had towered over him. Mamoru swallowed, fists clenched at his sides because that was not the same person who was being roughly pulled by an armed Kyodai through the veranda's lattice doors. This man was a pale shadow compared to that; pale, gaunt, torn, dirty clothing as he stumbled unsteadily on his feet.

The murmured cacophony of hushed, harsh whispers that broke out intensified uncomfortably as Asahi was pushed to his knees in front of Kunzite. He didn't fight it; a resigned, broken slump in his shoulders as he peered up through strings of greasy hair at the gathered crowd in front of him.

Kunzite chuckled, amused, and Mamoru had to avert his gaze for a moment to control the rage that began to course through his veins. "Asahi thought that he might take advantage of my sister's perceived weakness, _too," _he chided with a mocking disapproving click of his tongue. "Well, let me remind you _exactly _what Tumicho Tsukino does to the betrayers that bite the hands that feed them."

He heard Makoto's disbelieving gasp before his eyes fell onto Usagi who'd slipped through the door and was approaching her brother and the kneeling man that had abandoned them at Jadeite's.

Mamoru's breath caught in his throat, and the whispers intensified in its volume and distrustful pervasiveness because it was not Tumicho Tsukino that stepped out of the shadows of the towering mansion, but his Usako. _It had to be. _Because, for the first time since he'd laid eyes on Usagi in this world, she was not dressed impeccably with sleek, perfectly styled hair, a hardened look like polished marble veneer on her face, wearing impossibly high stiletto heels. She was a frazzled, pale mess in leggings, an oversized sweater, and a pair of flats with a hastily crafted braid swinging down the length of her back with every one of her movements.

Even the way she moved was more like Usako, uncertain in her gait. Her face pale, with shadows flashing in her eyes.

She looked absolutely torn to shreds over what she was about to do, and it elicited a hope that flared hotly in Mamoru's chest as his body coiled, tensing in anticipation for what was about to happen next.

The confidently smug look faded from Kunzite's face as a disapproving frown furrowed his brow. "Quiet!" he snapped loudly, instantly silencing the whispering crowd. "Tumicho Tsukino," he spat, turning towards Usagi who halted in front of them, her eyes flicking from a kneeling Asahi to Kunzite. "I present you with the scum that abandoned you in your moment of need," Kunzite hissed, leaned forward, roughly grasped her wrist and, without breaking eye contact with his sister, he transferred a gun into her palm, forcibly curling her fingers around the handle.

Mamoru couldn't breathe, fighting the desperate urge to _stop this_ as Kunzite leaned forward, his face inches from Usagi's. "Show them what we do to traitors."

It was as if time slowed as Mamoru watched with horror as Usagi nodded, her lips pressed into a thin, determined line as she twisted her body, took a step forward, and lifted the gun, pressing the barrel onto the back of Asahi's head.

Makoto whimpered beside him, shuddering in her horror, and he wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't pull his eyes off of Usagi's face. _She didn't want to do this. _And he couldn't stand that she was being forced to do it, as she visibly swallowed and he watched her steel her resolve.

Mamoru took an involuntary step forward, ignored the indignant huff from the Kyodai that he shouldered as he pushed past him. _Please, Usako. _He silently willed with everything in him, with every piece of his soul that might still be connected to the beautiful brightness that was _still _the love of his life, _not to do this. _

For a second he thought that she was going to do it, her finger poised on the trigger, flexing dangerously close to releasing the bullet that would pierce through Asahi's head and any hope that he might have of pulling her out of this life. But then, her hand shook ever so slightly when Asahi whimpered, trembling, clawing at the wooden panels of the deck beneath him. "Please," he pleaded in a desperate breath of air. "I just wanted to live."

Usagi's lips quivered as they parted on a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes widened before they slowly pulled away from Asahi and searched the crowd of Kyodai, frantically darting over the faces before her gaze finally connected with his.

He held her stare for what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, silently conveying the reassurance he knew that she was searching for. He knew the moment that she decided not to do it, and relief unlike anything he'd ever known washed through him, pulling the coiled tension from his muscles with a deep, cleansing exhale of breath.

Her nod was imperceptible, just a quick snap of her chin as a wisp of a resigned smile curled onto her lips, and the hand clutching the gun fell limply to her side.

The ticking of the clock that had slowed in those few, defining moments, seemed to speed up to a normal rate as Kunzite practically roared in disbelief. "What are you _doing?" _

It was a demand, and the others around him shifted, varying expressions of satisfaction, disbelief, and wariness on their faces. Except for Makoto, whose eyes widened with awe and a growing sense of hope that mirrored his own.

Usagi lifted her chin proudly, defiantly facing down her brother. "I don't want to do this," she exclaimed with conviction. "I forgive him."

He knew those words were meant for him in response to his pleas the night before, and while the pride and anticipation swelled in his chest, they infuriated Kunzite who had, apparently, reached his limit.

With an exploding roar of disbelief and a rage-filled snarl, the general pulled out another gun that was holstered to his hip and, without a moment of hesitation, he stepped forward, pressed the tip of the barrel to the back of Asahi's head and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening, and Mamoru bit the inside of his lip, flinching as he cringed away from the gruesome sight of splattering blood, and the sound of Asahi's final, gargling gasp as he slumped forward and his mangled head hit the wooden planks with a final, sickening thump.

The others did not seem fazed by it, except for Makoto who'd crossed her arms and averted her gaze, visibly flinching with horrified disgust.

Usagi didn't falter either, boldly fixing blue, determination-filled eyes onto her brother whose body was shuddering in his rage. "What the _fuck _is wrong with you?!"

All pretenses of a power-play washed away. Kunzite was too angry to put on a show for his underlings as he turned all of his frustrations onto the sister that he'd never had challenged him before. It terrified Mamoru who, without thinking, pushed through the Kyodai, his strides hurried as he stepped over Asahi's lifeless body to stand protectively beside Usagi.

Mamoru meant to pull her away from the swirling darkness around Kunzite, but the sight of him standing resolutely beside Usagi must have been enough to send the hot-headed, anger-filled Kunzite over the edge.

With a roar of unfettered rage, Kunzite dove towards him, catching Mamoru off guard as his fist connected with his jaw. The pain was sharp, instantaneous, and the edges of his vision blurred as his head snapped to the side with the force of the impact. He stumbled back a step and barely managed to catch his balance as he narrowly avoided falling to the ground.

Usagi screamed, horrified, as Kunzite lifted his gun, and aimed it at this chest.

Mamoru, as Tuxedo Kamen, had developed many skills over the years, and he attributed his quick reflexes to his masked alter ego as he skillfully barreled into Kunzite, powerfully gripped his gun-bearing wrist, and attempted to wrestle the weapon from his grasp without accidentally firing it.

They crashed to the ground, a flurry of black and silver as Kunzite snarled, overpowered him —his rage giving him an edge over Mamoru's survival-based instincts— and straddled him. Mamoru grunted with the strength it took to forcibly twist Kunzite's wrist to the side, intercepting his attempt to point the gun at him.

The perspiration was beading on Mamoru's forehead, as he gasped for breath, his only focus trying to force the gun out of Kunzites grasp when, suddenly, he was met with no resistance from the silver-haired general.

Two things registered simultaneously; first was the sharp click of a gun being cocked, and the second was that Kunzite had suddenly stopped trying to press the barrel of his weapon onto his head.

"Get away from him, Kunz."

Usagi's voice was steady, threatening, and Mamoru's gaze slid from the hardened contours of Kunzites fury filled expression to Usagi that stood beside him, her weapon clutched in her hand, and her gun trained warningly onto Kunzite.

Kunzite let out a bark of disbelieving laughter as he dropped his gun, fixed his gaze on hers, and stood, stepping away from Mamoru that instantly sucked in a breath of air, unimpeded by Kunzite's weight on his chest.

He noted briefly that their audience stood, waiting, eyes transfixed on the scene in front of them as if they were enjoying their daily dose of dark, twisted entertainment. Unwilling to intervene for leaders that they hated, and had once feared. Makoto was the only one that stood on the edge, muscles tensed, coiled and ready to spring into the fray should it appear that anything was going to happen to Usagi.

Kunzite laughed again, this time mockingly, as Mamoru propelled himself to his feet. Ignoring the way his head swam dizzily with the abrupt movement. "What are you going to do, Usagi?" Kunzite hissed, his eyes levelly meeting Usagi's who stood, chin tilted up proudly, her resolve unwavering. There wasn't even a twitch of hesitation in her stance, except for the way her fingers tightened their grip around the handle in warning as Kunzite took a tentative step towards her.

The disbelieving, smug-tinged expression faded from Kunzite's features, as it finally occurred to the silver-haired general that Usagi was dead serious. He shook his head slowly. "Why, Usagi?" he choked, "why would you destroy everything we've built for _him?" _

Mamoru's breath hitched as he scrutinized Usagi's reaction. _Why, indeed? _Was it too much to hope that maybe _now _she would admit what was clear as day to everyone present?

Usagi considered her brother for a moment, visibly swallowing before she answered. "Because he's _mine, _Kunzite." Mamoru released the breath he'd been holding with disappointment. _Of course. _He knew the nightmares were built to make things _hard. _But, fuck. This was getting _ridiculous _now. "And, I didn't do it for him," she continued. "I did it for me."

Her words evoked pride and relief that warmly washed over him. She'd come so damn far in the few weeks that they'd been trapped here together, and it only further cemented the glaring, beautiful truth that _no matter what _monster they tried to mold her into, his Usako would always breakthrough.

It was silent for a moment as the two contrived siblings faced each other, their eyes locked unwaveringly onto the other when finally, Kunzite spoke. "I'm in charge now, Usagi. You have no claim to Tumicho Tsukino anymore."

There was a dissonance of rising whispers at the harshly whispered statement, but he ignored them, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Usagi, breath held, as he studied her reaction to Kunzite's dismissal.

Tumicho Tsukino would have snarled, kicked, or killed anyone that had dared to defy her position; power had been everything to Tumicho Tsukino. He'd managed to banish that character though, and this person standing in front of them was a remorse-filled Usako. She nodded curtly once, her expression pale and resolute as she lowered her gun, let it slip from her grasp where it fell, bouncing off of the wood with a thud that echoed with resounding finality.

Tumicho Tsukino was gone, and everyone knew it.

Without another word, she swiveled around, still graceful, even more so without the heels, and swept past him. Pushing her way through the crowd of Kyodai that were rendered speechless at the loss of their current leader.

He met Makoto's wide-eyed gaze, and the brunette gestured animatedly towards Usagi's disappearing figure. "Well? Go after her," she urged quietly.

It snapped him out of his daze, and with a nod, the anticipation unfurling in his chest, he moved to follow her.

"Chiba!" Kunzite's command halted him in his tracks, and he coolly met his gaze over his shoulder. Kunzite seemed to have reigned in the hot-headed temper that seemed to have a firm grasp on the general's personality in this world. "I'm in charge now. Watch your back."

Kunzite's warning was clear. He was only letting him go because he still, on some twisted level, respected and loved his sister. But, he would find a way to make sure that he wasn't around for much longer. Mamoru nodded wordlessly and moved through the crowd towards where Usagi had disappeared into the house. He didn't want to be around for much longer, either. He just hoped that he'd banished some of Usagi's stubbornness along with the ruthless, Tumicho Tsukino. Because, at this rate, he'd be dead before he pulled a confession from her.

**oOo**

He couldn't find her. He'd searched the whole manor; his movements brisk as he carefully avoided the other Kyodai whose hardened eyes followed him with an array of wary, unsure, and menacing looks that filled him with a sense of urgency. It was apparent, after Kunzites display, that there had been a definite shift in power amongst the Tsukino's, and he was the reason for it.

It was only after narrowly avoiding an altercation with a group of Kunzite's more devout followers that he ran into Makoto in the hall. She stood resolute, eyes wide, face flushed, and shoulders tensed. Her expression etched with the same panic-ridden feelings that were currently coursing through him, as she turned to face him.

"Did you find her?" She demanded as she grasped his arm, slender fingers pressing almost painfully into his skin as her eyes, filled with urgency, met his.

He exhaled miserably and shook his head. "No, I've looked everywhere."

She let out a string of harsh, frustrated-filled expletives, and took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, as if to collect herself, before opening them again to fix her hardened, determined gaze back onto his face. "Mamoru," she began, her tone curt, "you need to go to your room and lay low. I'll find her and send her to you."

He opened his mouth, fully intending to protest, but was promptly interrupted by Makoto. "I'm serious, Mamoru," she snapped, "you're going to die if you stay out here and let me tell you, I have no intention of remaining trapped in this hell hole with Minako's psychotic, supposed-to-be-dead, ex-boyfriend."

Her tone left no room for argument, and he snapped his mouth shut, brow furrowed as he carefully considered her words. The role he was playing here had definitely become tenuous. Which didn't _really _matter because _his_ Usako had finally fought through the cruel chords of Tumicho Tsukino and _won_. Her admission had to be inevitably close now, except —as Makoto had blatantly pointed out— if he were killed before they found her, it would all be for nothing.

He exhaled slowly and nodded with resigned acquiescence. "Be careful, Makoto," he acceded softly.

The wisp of a sardonic smile curled onto her lips as she pulled away. "I've never been more careful in my life," she replied, and there was an underlying meaning in her words that he didn't understand. "Go. Avoid everyone. I'll send her to you when I find her."

With that, the brunette strode away without a glance backward. Her gait purposeful and confident, which was fitting for the Senshi of Jupiter.

He didn't linger, his mind racing as he made his way through the maze of hallways. He didn't know how long he was going to be able to hide away in his room; the need to find Usagi coiled tightly in his chest, especially knowing that she was somewhere, alone and vulnerable after what had just happened.

He was contemplating ways to safely navigate the mansion, inwardly wishing he'd made more connections in his time here when he opened the familiar plain-handled door to his room.

It was midday, the artificial lighting unnecessary as the sun's position was perfectly aligned with the lone window, bathing the room in natural light.

He froze, inhaling sharply, because there, in the middle of his small twin bed, was Usagi. She looked so little; legs tucked into her chest, head buried in her knees, her hair, loose, and tumbling around her like a curtain of golden silk.

She must have heard the door open and close, but she didn't even look up as he took a tentative step towards the bed. His heart racing and twisting painfully in his chest. Because, even though this had been his intention from the beginning, the only way that he could think of to bring her back to him, it still hurt like hell to see her like this; small, trembling and clearly broken-hearted over a life that wasn't even hers.

He swallowed past the lump of emotion in his throat, slowly knelt onto the edge of the bed. The weight of his knees pressing into the mattress dipped and shifted her position as he hesitantly lifted his hands and reached out for her.

"Usako?"

He kept the tenor of his tone purposefully soft, unsure what to expect, as his fingers lightly grazed her arms that were coiled protectively around her bent knees.

The breath caught in his throat when she lifted her head, red-rimmed, china-blue eyes met his, and the miserable confusion etched into the contours of her delicate features ripped violently at his heartstrings.

Her lips trembled, and her eyes welled with tears. "Is this what you wanted, Mamoru?" She demanded, her tone harsh, and breaking with barely restrained emotion. "Was this how you wanted me? Powerless and filled with nothing but— but—" she stuttered, choking on a whimpered sob.

He couldn't help the groan that involuntary clawed its way from his throat or the way his hands shook, and his arms trembled as he roughly pulled her into his arms. At first, she was tense, her body unyielding as he pulled her onto his lap, wrapped one arm around her waist and tucked her head beneath his chin with the other. His fingers weaving through the endless strands of her hair. It didn't last long, and soon she gave in to her despair; body quivering, her chest heaving with anguish-filled sobs that tore through the silence and through his heart. The full weight of her body slumped against his chest; sapped of energy, limbs limp as her sobs subsided into weary whimpers.

He felt her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as she lifted her face away from his chest. "I don't have anything," she sniffled, her voice so low, he almost didn't hear it. "All I feel is pain and guilt, and I don't know who I am anymore. I just know that I don't want to be who I was."

His heartbeat quickened, breath hitched in his throat as he tightened his arms around her, and listened quietly to her self-revelations.

He heard her breathe in deeply, felt it's calming effects beneath his fingers pressed onto her back when she pulled away slightly and peered up at him. Her lashes still laced with tears, but her eyes filled with more than just despair and confusion. "Will you help me get away from here? From this life, Mamoru?"

He could have wept at her whispered plea, because that was all he wanted. He wanted to rip her away from this world more than anything, and it was so damn frustrating because all he needed to hear were the words. The admission for feelings that he knew, without a doubt, was already there.

He groaned, pressed his forehead onto hers, and took a deep cleansing breath. "Yes," he whispered brokenly. "That's all I want for you, Usako. I love you."

He waited with bated breath for her answer. The reciprocating words that he _needed _to hear and was met with crushing disappointment that accompanied her response.

She sighed softly, pulled out of his arms, and twisted away from him so that she was kneeling on the bed, her back facing him; shoulders slumped, head bent forward, and arms wrapped around her midsection in misery. "I know what you want me to say, Mamoru," she murmured, her tone despondent. "I don't think I'm capable of love."

He tensed, inwardly cursing, because, _yes _she _fucking _was, and when he got them out of this, he was going to plunge his fist into the chest that belonged to the creator of these nightmares, rip out its heart, and destroy it for what it was doing to her.

He leaned forward, swept her hair off of her shoulder, and pressed his lips onto the crook of her neck. "You're wrong, Usako," he whispered against her skin, eliciting a shudder through her body as he curled his arms around her waist with hers and pulled her against him. "You do love me, Usako. Say it. Please."

She trembled in his arms, her breathing quickening in response to the intensity in his tone. "I…" she trailed off, and he waited, with bated breath, inwardly pleading with her to say the damn words. "I _can't," _she whimpered. "Please, don't push me. I don't want— I can't give you what you _want, _Mamoru. But, you're all I have left."

His heart constricted painfully in his chest as she began to whimper again in earnest. He knew, with everything in him, that he should have pushed her harder. She was vulnerable, and her admission was _right there. _He could feel it. If this were any of the other nightmares, he might have. But, she'd been stretched so damn thin already, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't press her for it.

He knew they were running out of time. Between Kunzite and Ami and everything that had just transpired, he was running the risk of losing everything. But the sight of her tears, the way she shook, brokenly curled up in his arms and the sound of her truncated, agonized sobs echoing in his head was enough to make him falter.

"Mamoru, please don't leave me."

Her whispered plea pierced through his thoughts, and he grit his teeth, clenched his eyes shut and tightened his arms around her. "God, Usako," he replied with a groan. "I thought it was obvious that I would never leave you. No matter what."

She exhaled slowly, relieved, as the tension left her body, and she leaned back against him. "Will you hold me for a little while? I'm tired, but I don't want to be alone."

He nodded, and wordlessly he moved to lay on his back beneath the threadbare blanket on his bed and pulled her down beside him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, pressing her body flush against his, thigh draped across his waist, and blonde hair splayed out across his chest.

He fixed his gaze on the ceiling, comfortingly trailing his fingers down the length of her spine when her breathing evened, and he was sure that she'd fallen asleep. "Mm, Mamoru. You're the only one I trust," she murmured sleepily just as a trill sounding 'ding' pierced the silence in the room.

His brow furrowed, and he made sure that she'd fallen asleep before he craned his neck to the side in search of the source of the noise that trilled loudly, once again.

His heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat because the sound had emanated from the small flip phone that Ami had slipped into his pocket. The dread that twinged in his chest intensified as he carefully leaned over with his free hand, and quietly flipped it open.

His eyes narrowed, and he swallowed nervously because on the small screen was a text message labeled unknown number, with an address, time and date. Ami wanted to meet him tomorrow at noon.

With a frustrated sigh, he flipped the phone shut, and it was loud enough that Usagi stirred in his arms. He winced, breath held, as she nestled more deeply against him and fell back asleep. He watched her sleep for a while, his mind racing, heart rate erratic, until his eyelids, of their own accord, fluttered shut and he fell into a restless, exhaustion induced sleep.

His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that he knew, without a doubt, that this would all be over tomorrow.

**oOo**

Leaving the manor had been much easier than expected. Slipping out undetected surprisingly the easiest thing he'd had to do in this nightmare so far. When he'd woken up alone, promptly beginning to contemplate possible excuses that would allow him to leave and meet Ami as requested, he'd been fully prepared to face a slew of obstacles.

First, he'd briefly considered ignoring the message altogether, but opted against that course of action as the very last thing he wanted was to have Ami, and the cops, raid the manor again, potentially blowing his cover and ruining everything.

He was still trying to devise a relatively solid plan as he pulled a clean shirt over his head, dressing quickly, when the door flew open, the wood hitting the wall with a dull thud, and Usagi strode into the room.

For a moment, his heart stopped, because Usagi was dressed in the styled, perfectly polished-like-marble-veneer, that was a Tumicho Tsukino signature, with another pair of stupid high-heels. Luckily, he noted with relief that there was none of this nightmare's darkness glinting from her eyes as they quickly scanned the room before settling onto him; shining with the worried, vulnerable brightness that was his Usako.

With her lower lip poised between her teeth, she swept towards him, her movements filled with urgency as she grasped his wrist and pressed a set of keys into his hand. "Mamoru," she rasped. "You need to leave. My brother is on a rampage, and I'm afraid of what he'll do to you if you stay."

His brow furrowed, confused because he had no intention of leaving this place without her. "Usako," he began with a firm shake of his head. "Come with me."

If she'd agreed to leave with him, there would have been no reason to meet Ami at the address indicated, and, without the distraction of the nightmare that was the Tsukino family in this place, coaxing a confession from her probably would have been much easier.

This nightmare was particularly complex in its obstacles, though, because Usagi, eyes glinting with determination, vehemently shook her head. "I can't leave yet, Mamoru." He couldn't help but sigh with exasperation as he gritted his teeth in frustration at her response. Would it be a huge setback if he were to pick her up, toss her over his shoulder, and carry her out of here against her will?

The thought was fleeting, though thoroughly tempting, and his fingers flexed around the cold metal and plastic of the keys in his hand.

"Why not?"

His tone was harsher than intended, and she returned her sigh with a wistful smile; a smile so reminiscent of his Usako that he couldn't figure out why she was being so damn reticent about just saying that she loved him.

She stepped toward him, curled slender fingers into the fabric of his shirt, as the rueful hues of sapphire blue settled onto cobalt blue. "Because, I need to take care of some things first," she explained, and he scoffed, an involuntary sound that quirked the corners of her lips into an amused half-smile. "Mamoru, I was essentially the leader of the most infamous drug smuggling ring in all of Tokyo _two _days ago. I can't just walk away from that without tying up loose ends."

His brow furrowed, incensed, because what the hell kind of loose ends was she talking about? The Usagi of this world was such a tightly woven mixture of the character that had been created for her and the woman he loved, that he was getting whiplash from the unpredictability of her actions.

"What _kind _of loose ends, Usako?"

His tone was filled with suspicion, as his arms curled around her waist, and he hauled her against him.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as her body tensed in his embrace before she exhaled and chuckled softly. "I didn't pull the trigger, Mamoru," she reminded him of Asahi, lifting a delicate hand to cup the side of his face. "I love my brother, Mamoru. And you're just going to have to trust me."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him mid-sentence as she leaned forward and pressed her lips onto his. Her movements were practiced, frenzied, and he groaned into her mouth as she effectively stoked the burning heat in between them.

When she pulled away, he was breathless, dazed, and confused as she smiled and twirled out of his arms.

Before she pulled him into the hall, tugging him through the maze of the manor, and practically forcing him into a waiting black sedan in the driveway, she'd casually slipped a phone into his hand.

"My number is on that phone, Mamoru, but I will call you as soon as I'm ready to go," she'd explained with a wink, a swish of shapely hips before she'd just left him there to confidently stride back up the walkway, and back into that house.

The cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach and in the cavity of his chest twinged, widened and twisted uncomfortably. He should have gone after her, said _no, _and forced her into the passenger seat of the car. Instead, despite every instinct in his body, he'd pulled the car out of the driveway, slowly navigating the unbearably congested traffic of Kyoto city to navigate his way to the address that Ami had texted him.

He wasn't sure what to expect. He wasn't really an undercover cop, and though the guidelines of this nightmare had followed the poorly written threads of an action movie, he was still surprised when he smoothly pulled the car into park in front of Kyoto Kasotori international shooting range.

He twisted the key in the ignition, promptly killing the engine. The ensuing silence in the cab of the car was practically deafening as he let his head fall back onto the leather upholstered headrest of the driver's seat, fingers gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened, as he took a deep, cleansing breath in preparation for whatever the hell was going to happen next.

When he felt like he was suitably mentally prepared, he exited the car. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed loudly in the parking lot around him, and he grimaced, his heart racing, as he made his through the gaps between parked cars towards a lone white brick building with a faded wooden sign etched with 'reception' in black, blocky letters above the door.

As far as shooting ranges went, this particular one was probably a tinge on the shady side, and he briefly wondered if this place existed in the real Kyoto, or if it was just a construct of this nightmare, as he stepped through the front door.

Immediately, his ears were assaulted with the sounds of firing weapons, and he flinched, caught off guard, before stepping towards a stooped, white-haired man that was leaning over a scuffed, L-shaped desk.

He wasn't even really sure what the hell he was going to_ ask _him. Had he met Ami in this place before? Was he supposed to know what the hell he was doing?

Silently raging at the injustice of all the _unknown _that plagued him in this nightmare, he stopped short when the man's head snapped up at his approach, and his thin-set lips widened into a toothy grin.

"She's waiting for you in section 6; firing lane 3."

Mamoru nodded, relieved that he didn't have to wade through the semantics of an awkward conversation with him, at least, as he turned left, and stepped through opened reinforced steel doors towards where the man had indicated with a terse tilt of his head and a gestured flick of his wrist.

It wasn't difficult to find, and his pulse quickened nervously as his eyes scanned over the people he passed, his brow furrowed with curiosity. Men, women, and even younger children, all using a variety of guns he couldn't begin to identify, backs to him, as they took turns firing at targets across indoor fields of synthetic grass at hanging targets.

The lanes on either side of section 6 were empty, and he sighed as his gaze fixed onto the curve of familiar tense shoulders, and the signature cropped blue hair that belonged to the former Senshi of Mercury.

He stood silently behind her for a moment, his heart beating in tandem with every rapid-fire shot that burst from the revolver that she held firmly in her hands. Her arms lifted, extended stiffly, and her expression fierce as the bullets from her gun pierced through the target with startling accuracy.

The personality crafted for Ami here, from what he'd seen anyway, was the opposite of the calm, rational girl that he knew, and there was an angry air that vibrated with anguished intensity around her.

It made him nervous, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably when she stopped shooting and spared him a cursory glance over her shoulder.

She didn't say anything at first as she turned back towards the field and fired another round of bullets. The sound was deafening, and he didn't have to wonder why the other patrons on the range were wearing noise-canceling earphones anymore.

Finally, she lowered her gun, the silence ringing almost as loudly as the shots fired, and gracefully twisted her torso to face him. Her expression was difficult to read, and he couldn't help but swallow, disconcerted, as her eyes swept over him, a small crease puckered on her brow.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the look in her eyes when they finally settled on his face, though he was sure he'd seen relief flash through them momentarily. "Good," she stated steadily. "I wasn't sure if you were going to come."

That statement did not bode well for the pretend role he was trying to uphold here, and he suppressed a grimace as he took a step towards her; forcibly keeping his expression neutral. "Of course. Why wouldn't I come?" he scoffed and hoped to God that she couldn't see right through his façade.

Her eyes narrowed, lower lip poised between her teeth, before she shook her head with a frustrated sigh. "I don't know, Mamoru," she snapped, her tone laced with uncertainty and anger. "You're _different." _She visibly swallowed, her cheeks reddening as she quickly averted her gaze. "And, we've been partners for a long time. I couldn't take any chances."

His heart skipped a beat, and he frowned in confusion, because, what the hell did that even mean? "What are you talking about?" he demanded, taking another step towards the bluenette that simply shrugged nonchalantly as she boldly met his gaze.

Instead of responding, she extended her gun toward him, expertly flipping the weapon with a flick of her wrist to offer him the handle. "Aren't you going to take a turn shooting, Mamoru?" she responded coolly with a questioning quirk of a lapis-colored eyebrow.

It was almost as if she was challenging him, and he swore that his heart stopped beating for a second as his breath caught in his throat. His eyes flicked nervously from her face to the offered weapon.

It didn't matter _what _side he was supposedly on. They were all trying to get him to use a gun. He briefly contemplated whether or not there was any significance to that as he, with a loud sigh of resignation, curled his fingers around the cold, uncomfortable weight of the revolver.

Ami promptly crossed her arms, brows raised expectantly, as he tentatively took a step towards the faded yellow line that glared up at him from the concrete in front of the field. He could feel the perspiration beading on his brow as he planted his feet where he assumed he was supposed to be standing.

He could see the way Ami's eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, in his peripheral vision as he lifted the gun and attempted to mirror the bluenette's stance from memory. _Damn_. Give him back his tuxedo and the ability to use his signature _Tuxedo_ _la smoking bomber _attack, and he could probably blow the hanging piece of taunting target paper to smithereens without a second thought. But, a _gun? _In a shooting range? That wasn't even _real _because this whole thing was a fucking _nightmare? Of course_ he'd overthink that, and his hands shook, the tendons in his arms flexing nervously as his index finger —_was this even the right way to hold this? — _hovered for a moment above the trigger.

He probably should have spent less time stressing out about the fact that he was going to shoot a gun, and more time trying to aim because the bullet didn't even graze the target. Not by a longshot.

He cringed at the sharp inhale beside him. Maybe nightmare-cop-Mamoru was just as bad at shooting as he was?

"What the _hell _is wrong with you, Mamoru?" _Damn. _By the sharp tone in Ami's voice, it was clear that cop Mamoru _definitely _knew how to shoot.

He risked a glance over at the blunette that was shaking her head in disbelief. "This is what I'm talking about," she snapped angrily. "When did you lose your ability to use a gun?"

He grimaced, the heat creeping up his neck as he turned to face her. "It was just an unlucky shot, Ami," he defended. "I was distracted."

She snorted angrily, cheeks blazing crimson red as she took a fury-filled step towards him. "Oh, I know you're distracted, Mamoru," she sneered, angrily prodding his chest with an index finger. "You let _Tumicho Tsukino _suck you in! She's a cold-hearted, manipulative _monster!" _Her voice broke with emotion, and the anguish tinged through the anger. "It's why I had to pull you out of there so that I could _end _this. I _saw _you kiss her in the hall, Mamoru, and I didn't want you there when everything goes down."

It took a second for her words to register, but when they did, his face blanched, his eyes widened, and he was sure that his heart stopped beating in his chest. Because, though he still held hope that he'd misheard her, the implication she'd uttered was that this meeting was a ploy to get him away from Usagi so that she could…

He didn't think about it as the gun slipped from his hand, fell onto the concrete with a sharp snap, as he grasped Ami by the shoulders. His eyes filled with pained urgency as he peered down into her startled expression. "What did you do, Ami?" he demanded hoarsely.

He was only dimly aware that he'd been lucky that he hadn't accidentally fired the gun when he'd carelessly dropped it to the ground, and that his fingers were pressing too tightly into Ami's skin, but he didn't _care. _He hadn't done all of this, gone through all that he had, just for it to end with Usagi behind bars.

Ami met his gaze with a scowling glare of her own. "I did what I needed to do. We have enough evidence on the Tsukino's, and you didn't _need _to be there _anymore_."

It was like he'd been sucker-punched in the stomach. He should have followed his instincts. He should have pushed Usagi for an admission when he'd had a chance, and he should never have let her convince him to drive away.

An anguished expletive burst from his lips, and he abruptly released Ami and twisted on his heels to leave the shooting range. He ignored Ami's plea-filled scream, begging him to stop, as he tore through the sections and out into the reception area.

He didn't stop when the white-haired man glanced up, startled by his abrupt appearance, and he thought his racing heart might explode from his chest as he violently shoved the front door open and pressed through the parking lot towards the borrowed sedan.

He fumbled for the keys in his pocket, cursing as they slipped through his fingers twice before he unlocked the door and quickly slid into the driver's seat.

He was already pulling out of the lot; his movements panicked, tires squealing as he briefly spied Ami in the rear-view mirror.

He was furious as he smashed the palm of his hand onto the steering in frustration because he should have known. He should have fucking _known! _There wasn't anything that was easy in these worlds. _Ever. _And every threaded instinct that he possessed had pleaded with him not to pull out of that Goddamn driveway.

He was angry, recklessly weaving in and out of traffic in his rush to get to her. What if he was too late? If only there were a way…

With another growl of self-deprecation, he clumsily fumbled through his pockets, nearly rear-ending the car in front of him, and pulled out the phone she'd given him before he'd stupidly left her behind.

He wasn't sure how he managed to find her number without crashing, but luckily, he managed, and she picked up on the second ring.

"_Mamoru, it's been less than an hour. I told you—"_

"Usako, listen to me. You need to find Makoto and get out of the manor right now."

There must have been something laced into the tone of his voice that alarmed her because she paused for a second before responding.

"_Why?" _

Her tone was sharp, filled with confusion, and he inhaled shakily, narrowly dodging another collision, before responding.

"Usako, I can't explain it to you right now, but you're in danger, and I need you to trust me now. Is there somewhere safe you can go?"

There was a pregnant pause, and he held his breath as he waited for her to respond. He wasn't sure how long it would be before the manor was raided, and they were all taken into custody.

"_All right, Mamoru," _she responded, and he could have wept with relief. "_Meet me at the warehouse. I want to know what the hell is going on." _

He swerved to another lane, slamming on the breaks behind a slow-driving vehicle and prayed that he'd given her enough of a head start to get out of there. Which, she wouldn't need if she would just admit that she loved him like he _knew _that she did.

His brow furrowed in contemplation. Did a phone admission count? Could he even pull a confession from her right now? Should he even try?

_Aw, what the hell. _"I love you, Usako."

There was a very audible sigh of irritation. "_Whatever, Mamoru. Get to the warehouse with an explanation pronto." _

He exhaled with resigned disappointment at her admittedly expected response as the line went dead. When a horn blared furiously behind him, he tossed the phone onto the front passenger seat, and focused solely on the road and getting to the Tsukino warehouse.

It felt like an interminable amount of time that painfully crawled by with the cars —that he _swore _were purposefully slowing down and getting in his way— before he finally slammed on the breaks and screeched to a halt in front of the warehouse.

The Tsukino manor was not far from here, and he exhaled, relieved, at the sight of another sedan parked in front of the entrance. They'd made it here before him, which meant that he'd interceded in time.

It only occurred to him that he was going to need to concoct a suitable explanation for his impromptu demand to have her come here as he ducked under the partially opened steel loading dock door.

He'd been here several times over the course of the few weeks that he'd spent as a Tsukino Kyodai, so he was familiar with the interior where he'd spent hours moving crates. It was easy to navigate, even in the dim lighting, and a relieved smile curled onto his lips as Usagi came into view.

She looked annoyed, arms crossed, impatiently tapping the toe of one of her high-heeled shoes as she watched him approach with a scowl fixed onto delicate features. He was so focused on his elation that she was here, safe and sound, that he didn't see that she wasn't alone until he rounded the corner of a stack of towering boxes and she fully came into view.

Beside her was Makoto, face pale, lips pressed into a thin, grim line. Green eyes wide with anxiety-ridden fear. He internally groaned because, just beside her, was Kunzite. His face set into its usual, hard-headed, hot-tempered mask of anger that sullenly fixed onto him. Two of his armed, particularly brainless, Kyodai surrounded him.

Kunzite and his brute's presence, though severely unwelcome, was not the most disconcerting person that stood there, however, because standing beside him was the familiar angled features of a girl he was seeing for the first time in this nightmare.

Minako, scantily dressed in leather leggings and a red crop top, clung onto Kunzite like he was a buoy and she was drowning, lost at sea. When her blue eyes met his, they widened, filled with shock and… _recognition? _

He didn't have time to delve deeper into that as Usagi stepped towards him, and he noted, for the first time, that there was something akin to suspicion flashing in her eyes. "Mamoru!" She demanded, "the cops are _arresting _and _raiding _the manor as we speak. How did you know?

He opened his mouth to respond, his mind racing with a thousand reasonable explanations when he was promptly interrupted.

"He knows because he's a cop, Tumicho Tsukino."

His breath hitched, and his heart skipped a terrified beat in his chest as his gaze slid over to the source that had just revealed the _only _thing that could ruin everything before he got them out of here. _Minako._

The blonde's lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed angrily, and her chin tilted upwards as she boldly glowered at him. He was at a loss for words, terrified, because how the hell had she known?

Kunzite growled with rage, "I _fucking _knew it!"

The silver-haired general took a menacing step towards him, and Mamoru, still rooted to the spot, frozen in disbelief, didn't have time to react as the General plunged his fist into his abdomen.

The pain was intensely sharp and instantaneous as Mamoru gasped, his eyes watering, as he stumbled backward. He lifted his fist, prepared to strike back, when one of the Kyodai, towering, tattooed and brooding, quickly slipped forward and struck him again as he twisted behind him and sharply kicked the back of his legs, promptly bringing him to his knees.

Mamoru sucked in a pained breath of air, trying to recover quickly, as Kunzite pulled his gun, and, for what had to be the hundredth time in this nightmare, aimed it at his head.

With a bone-chilling glare at the Kyodai whose beefy hand was pressed onto his shoulder, keeping him on his knees, Usagi stepped in front of him, her stance stiff and defiant as she glared at Minako. "Your dumb blonde is missing way too many brain cells, Kunzite," she sneered. "Mamoru is _not _a cop. Why the hell would he warn us if he was a cop?" She challenged hotly.

He could only watch in horror as everything unraveled and Minako cast him a cursory, _knowing, _look over Usagi's shoulder. "Look, I know you're like the big, bad boss and all of that, but I _was _a cop, remember?" Minako drawled, and Mamoru's heart sank with dread. Ami's words from their first encounter here filtered to the forefront of his mind.

"_But, he escaped Mamoru. They paid off that rookie cop, you know, the dumb blonde. Mina- something. And they got away."_

He raked his hands over his face in despair. How the hell had he let himself forget that?

Usagi shook her head in denial, her expression pained and furious. "You're lying!" She hissed defensively.

Mamoru's heart twisted, and he wished, more than anything, that he could spare Usagi the pain of what was about to happen next as he met Makoto's horror-filled gaze. The brunette's brow was knitted in confusion because, like a moron, he hadn't disclosed that information to Makoto either.

He'd made so many mistakes in this nightmare, and this one was going to be the one that ended it all for them. Makoto inhaled sharply as the apologetic message he'd conveyed with his gaze registered.

Minako giggled, the sound sickly sweet, as she reached down the scrap that was the front of her shirt and pulled a phone from her bra. Kunzite was coiled in anticipation, ready to attack, as Minako swiped at something on her screen.

With a gleeful exclamation of victory, Minako held up her phone to Usagi, a smug smile on her red-painted lips.

Usagi's face paled, a stark white color, as she sucked in a sharp breath of air and yanked the phone from Minako's grasp. Her eyes narrowed onto whatever Minako was showing her on the screen.

Mamoru's heart hammered against his ribcage, and he knew, without a doubt, that he needed to say something, or do something, _right now, _before it was too late. "Usako," he pleaded and, once again, attempted to stand. He hissed through his teeth in pain as the Kyodai's grip tightened and he was sure something snapped in his shoulder.

Minako's smile was borderline malicious as she tapped a fingernail on the screen that Usagi was staring at in disbelief. "In thispicture, you can see Mizuno Ami at a retreat that we all attended last year, for cops. She's actually in uniform here. And beside her—" Minako's lips curled up into a chilling smile. "_That_ right _there _is Chiba Mamoru, and from what _I _remember, he and his partner have a personal vendetta against the Tsukino's because of the death of Zoisite. Her boyfriend and his best friend."

He didn't doubt that Usagi was staring at an incriminating photo right now, and it was clear that she believed Minako because of the heart wrenching look that twisted onto the beautifully delicate features on her face. He stopped struggling against the Kyodai restraining him when Usagi spun around on her heels to peer down at him.

The pain emanating from her was enough to make him want to scream with rage and weep in anguish.

She shook her head, her hand trembling as she held the screen out to him. "Is it true?" She rasped, "Are you a cop? Was this all some kind of vengeful ploy to destroy my family and me?"

He didn't even glance at the screen, holding her gaze with his. How could he save her now? What could he do to make her understand? "Usako, I love you."

It was the only thing he could manage to say, his eyes wide and pleading. His lack of denial was enough for Usagi though, and the strangled gasp of pain that ripped from her throat and spilled from her lips made his eyes water as it tore at his heart. _This wasn't fair. _Why would _anybody_ want to do this to her?

Kunzite was the calmest he'd seen him since the nightmare of this world had begun, and the white-haired general, expression hard and resolute, stepped towards Usagi, his gaze fixed firmly on his sister.

Mamoru's stomach churned as Kunzite pressed his gun into her hand. "Now, Usa," he demanded harshly, "kill him, now."

He couldn't breathe as Usagi stared down at the gun in her hand in frozen disbelief. He could pinpoint the exact moment that Tumicho Tsukino clawed her way back through the beautiful threads of his Usako. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a grim, determined line as her fingers tightened around the gun as she firmly met his gaze.

"You betrayed me," she whispered hoarsely, her words trembling with outrage and disbelief as she lifted the gun, blinded by Tumicho Tsukino's rage and steadily trained it on him.

It felt like time slowed as her finger hovered above the trigger, a rage-filled sneer curled angrily across gritted teeth. She was so consumed by fury, so brutally broken by what she thought he'd done, that she'd retreated behind the safety of her ruthless counterpart.

His breath hitches, ears ringing as the horror of this moment washed over him. He just needed a minute. Just a moment to delay this, break through the haze of her rage.

As if his silent plea had been answered, a sharply edged voice cut through the tension. "Wait! Usagi, don't do this."

Mamoru tore his gaze from Usagi and onto Makoto who suddenly stepped in front of him, effectively blocking him from Usagi's aimed weapon.

The brunette lifted her hands in supplication. "Please, I brought Mamoru here," she began, her tone soft, tentative, as if she were trying to negotiate with a terrorist or calm a feral animal. "He loves you, Usagi. More than anything in this world. I _promise _you. He has not betrayed you."

He knew that Makoto meant well, but it was evident by the cold, unresponsive set in Usagi's eyes, that there was nothing there right now except for the cold, calculating rage that belonged to the contrived character of this world.

He knew what was going to happen an instant before Makoto did, and he couldn't help the horrified plea that tore from his lips. "Usako, stop! Please!"

This time he struggled in earnest against the Kyodai holding him, and he would have torn free until the second one, much stronger than the first, kicked him in the stomach, forcing him to remain on his knees.

His vision was blurry, gasping through his pain as he peered, bleary-eyed, in helpless disbelief at the proud, loyal Senshi of Jupiter. _He was too late._ Makoto knew it also, because her green eyes softened, resigned and understanding as they met his. "Save her."

It was the last thing Makoto said before Usagi pulled the trigger and the bullet ripped from the barrel of the gun and tore through Makoto's chest. He swore he heard the sickening impact of metal and flesh. The gargled, pained sound that bubbled from Makoto's lips, interlaced with Kunzite's bark of malicious laughter, as she crumpled to the ground would be embedded into his brain forever.

The bile rose in Mamoru's throat at the horrific sight, and he choked on a sob of horrified anguish as he slumped forward, eyes shut against the horrifying reality of what had just happened. This wasn't real. Makoto was still alive and strapped on a gurney in a lab somewhere, and so the grief didn't completely overwhelm him.

But _this_. This would _kill _Usagi if she knew. If his Usako were somehow aware in there, this would tear her to shreds. The heart wrenching thought is what pulled his gaze back up to Usagi who stood, poised over the lifeless form of her former friend, her expression a mixture of cold and disbelieving.

"Well done, sister," Kunzite praised with a chuckle. "Now finish off this gutter rat so that we can go back to how things were before."

Usagi, almost in a numb daze, lifted her eyes from where they'd been fixed on Makoto to Kunzite's approving, steely blue eyes. "Like things were before?" She whispered, confused, and Mamoru's heart skipped a beat at the slight shake in her hand.

"Usako," he pleaded hoarsely, blinking back another onslaught of tears. "I know you're more than this. You don't want this. Please."

Usagi slid the sapphire hues of her eyes back onto him, and he could _see it. _The internal struggle that meant that this wasn't over after all.

Kunzite must have seen it too, because he growled in fury-filled frustration and roughly, almost violently, clasped her hands, curled them around the handle, and forcibly lifted her arms.

"Pull the fucking trigger, Usagi," he demanded sharply with a sneer curled over white teeth, as he took a step back, muscles coiled and tensed in anticipation.

Usagi hesitated, and her lower lip quivered as she stared down at him, and Mamoru waited, with breath held in his throat, as he watched the way her face contorted, eyes flashing with glimpses of emotion as she struggled to make her decision.

He _hated_ to see her like this. She _didn't_ deserve this, and she needed to know that no matter what she did next, it _wasn't_ her fault.

He mustered every ounce of strength and heartfelt emotion within him and conveyed it through his gaze that steadily met hers. The corners of his lips quirked up into a soft, forgiving smile, even as his eyes glistened with pain-filled tears. "Usako," he whispered, and she froze, lips parted, eyes wide. "This isn't your fault. I understand, and I love you. No matter what you do."

Kunzite and Minako both sneered, scoffing in amusement, but something flickered in the depth of Tumicho Tsukino's eyes, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was Usako.

He breathed a sigh of relief as her hands lowered, falling limply to her sides.

Kunzites laughter dissipated like a wisp of anger-filled smoke. "What are you doing? _Kill him, _Usagi!"

Usagi shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes and sliding listlessly down pale cheeks. "I can't do it, Kunzite," she choked on a ragged breath of air.

Kunzite roared in disapproval, grasped her by the shoulders and twisted her towards him. "Why not?! He's a cop! He _tricked _you, Usa!"

She craned her neck sideways, her pain-filled eyes meeting his, and Mamoru held his breath, the hope unfurling in his chest, constricting his throat with emotion. She was there. He could see it. _He could feel it. _

And then, finally, it was _over. _

"Because I love him, Kunzite," she admitted quietly, pulling away from her silver-haired brother to face him. "I love you, Mamo…"

She sucked in a pained breath of air, and he watched, this time with anguish, as the recognition flashed in her eyes as they slowly widened. "Mamo-chan."

He groaned, struggling against his captors as he tried to reach her. "Usa…"

Then, her gaze flicked from his onto the prone, lifeless corpse that belonged to Makoto, and he watched with horror as she crumpled to her knees with a strangled cry of absolute, heart-wrenching agony. "Mako-chan!"

He choked on a pained sob as he watched her claw at Jupiter's shirt, piercing cries of grief tearing from her throat as she pulled Makoto's head into her lap and fruitlessly pressed her fingers onto the gaping hole in Makoto's chest. "No. _No. No! _Mako-chan, I'm sorry. Please don't be dead. _Please!_"

Her anguish was so painfully palpable, it renewed his determination to get to her, and with a growl of rage, he fought, and elbowed one of the Kyodai in the groin. The Kyodai howled in pain, promptly snapping Kunzite out of his confused haze.

The silver-haired general roared furiously, as he stepped forward, a sneer on his face as he grasped the collar of Usagi's dress and forcibly hauled the broken-hearted love of his life to her feet. "What the _fuck _is _wrong _with you?!"

Usagi whimpered, flinching away from Kunzites rage, and the edges of Mamoru's vision turned red with rage when the silver-haired general violently shook her.

With all of the fury and energy he could muster, Mamoru plunged his fist into the second Kyodai's abdomen. The tattooed man gasped, instinctively releasing him, and Mamoru sprang to his feet, ignoring the sharp, stinging sensation in his shoulder blade from where the Kyodai had probably broken his collarbone and dove for the gun that Usagi had dropped in her grief.

Minako screamed as he scrambled for the weapon. Then, with it firmly in his grasp, he stood tall, and aimed it directly at Kunzite, cocking it loudly for good measure. "Let her go."

The only audible sound was Usagi's whimpers as Kunzite, with a disgusted curl of his lip, pushed Usagi into his arms. Mamoru deftly caught her and pulled her against him, one arm wrapped around her waist like a protective steel band, the other extended stiffly, aiming the gun at kunzite's head. Usagi was like a limp rag doll, too grief-stricken to stand, and he bore the brunt of her weight as she trembled and buried her face in his chest.

He wanted desperately to comfort Usagi, speak to his newly awakened

Moon Senshi, but he kept his gaze firmly locked on Kunzite and the gun poised in his hand as he faced off with the infuriated white-haired general who looked like revenge was going to be his sole purpose from now on.

He usually hated to hear the buzzing sound of a dream ending, but this time he was counting on it. _What the hell was taking so long? _

The sudden sound of wailing police sirens and the muffled demand to give in and exit the premises from just outside of the warehouse entrance broke through the tension.

Kunzite cursed furiously and snapped his fingers at the Kyodai who wordlessly stepped forward to flank him on either side. They were all armed, guns raised, as they twisted around to face the door.

Mamoru knew that soon the warehouse would be flooded with cops, and he didn't understand _why _they hadn't been pulled from the nightmare yet. _He'd won their stupid game._ Usagi was _awake, _and she remembered _everything_.

His arms tightened around her waist when she trembled, and he felt the adrenaline course through his veins as his gaze frantically scanned the surrounding area for a possible way to get them out of there. For whatever reason, they were stuck still here, and he wasn't going to waste precious time trying fighting off the contrived cops of this world, too.

His breath hitched as his eyes locked onto the partially covered loading dock doors that, if he remembered correctly, was never used. He didn't know if the door was locked, or how easy it was going to be to get through it, but it was their only chance now.

He couldn't afford the time it would take to come up with an alternate solution, because the steel doors on the other side of the warehouse screeched loudly as they scraped across the cement floors. That sound, intertwined with the thudding footsteps, the authoritative commands to surrender and the resonating shots from Kunzite and his cronies that began to fire with reckless abandon, was an indication that it was time for them to go.

Usagi tensed in his arms, her hands pressed onto her ears to ward off the noise, as he pushed forward and threw them both onto the cement floor, just narrowly avoiding a stray bullet.

Her eyes, wide, glinting with terror and desperation, tore at his heart as he sucked in a pained breath, ignored all of the sharp stinging aches in his body as he grasped her arm and hauled her back onto her feet.

He would have tugged her towards the door, their only means to get out of this warehouse, but he was met with resistance as she pulled him back towards the cops that were pressing closer and the steely, dead-eyed expressions of Kunzite and the Kyodai as they mercilessly attacked.

He yanked her back towards him, and she stumbled, falling weakly against his chest. "Usako," he hissed with urgency through gritted teeth. "We need to _go! _What are you doing?"

She whimpered, struggling in his hold, as he wrestled to keep her in his arms as he took a step back towards the safety of the door. "Mako-chan," she cried brokenly. His heart clenched tightly in his chest as the heart wrenching sound. "Mamo-chan, I can't just _leave _her here."

The sounds in the warehouse were deafening as he grasped her shoulders, twisting her around to face him. She was pale, the blue of her eyes a painfully stark contrast to her pallid complexion and the inky black lashes that were laced with beaded tears. For a moment, the noise echoing loudly around them disappeared; drowned out by the energy that sizzled between them. He lifted his hands and gently framed her face, the tips of his fingers weaving into the silken tendrils of hair at her temples as he peered down into her eyes.

"Usako, that isn't Makoto," he reassured softly, his tone laced with firm conviction. "I know this is hard, but we _need _to get out of here."

Only seconds passed, but it felt like so much longer as he watched her come to terms with the aching grief of what had just transpired. Her lower lip quivered, but still, she nodded in agreement.

He wasn't sure how they managed to get through those next few minutes. They needed to duck several times before he could pull her behind the safety of a stack of crates as he miraculously pried the door open in record time and shot them both over the steel threshold and out into the darkened alleyway behind the warehouse.

He was sure that he heard Ami and Kunzite call in a mixture of rage and disbelief just behind them, but he didn't stop to see how close they were as he curled his fingers around Usagi's wrist and roughly pulled her forward.

They leapt over a concrete barrier in the alleyway and ran. He tried to keep them hidden, dashing through the dancing shadows along bricked walls that were cast there by the flickering street lamps that made a popping noise as they turned on one by one under the setting sun.

Usagi stumbled, her breathing labored as delicate fingers clutched onto his arm as she crashed onto her knees with a yelp of pain.

He sucked in a panicked breath of air as he swiftly knelt beside her, grasped her arm, and pulled her back onto her feet. "God," she gasped, choking on the exertion of running. "Mamo-chan, I can barely walk in these stupid things, let alone run."

He heard movement not far behind them, the soles of shoes pounding along the cobblestone alleyway. So, he was quick to clamp his arm around Usagi's waist, hoisting her against him as he, in one fluid motion, leaned forward and pried the shoes from her feet, carelessly tossing them aside.

The action was almost cathartic, and he'd be perfectly happy if she never wore a pair of heels _again_, but he didn't have time to think about it as he urged her forward and they fled down the darkened pathway, Usagi unsteady, even with bare feet, and emerged onto a busy Kyoto street.

Though it was late, it was still buzzing with activity, and it was easier for him to pull Usagi into the bustling din of swarming pedestrians, swallowing them up in the crowd that they carefully waded through to get onto the other side of the street.

The crowd wouldn't hide them forever though, which was very evident as more and more wary looks, tinged with fear, appeared on the faces of the men and women as they began to recognize Usagi and automatically gave her a wide berth.

He wasn't sure if they were still being followed, but he wasn't taking any chances as he pulled her off the sidewalk, into the shadows in between two buildings, and through winding mazes of deserted back alleyways until finally, they stopped in an empty, eerily quiet park.

After the resonating thrum of gunshots, screams, and the echoing sounds of pounding footsteps in hot pursuit, the quiet was disconcerting. There was only the sound of the wind whistling through the fluttering petals of the cherry blossom trees, and their ragged labored breathing as he turned towards Usagi.

She was a mess; hair loose, swirling around her in tangled clumps, dress torn, barefoot, face streaked with tears. Yet, she was the _most _beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He couldn't stop himself from reaching for her, crushing her against the hardened expanse of his chest. He shuddered with relief, the tension seeping out of his body as he held her trembling form and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

He didn't know why they hadn't been ripped from this nightmare yet, but he intended to take advantage of every moment that they had together.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and he swore that he could almost feel her despondency as she whimpered, clinging onto him, drowning in the remnants that were the aftereffects of this nightmare.

Her whimpers turned into sobs as she crumpled unsteadily, and he needed to hold her up. "Oh, God. Mamo-chan. I killed Mako-chan," she choked, and his hold on her tightened. "I _killed _so many _people_. I can't do this anymore. _I can't."_

He swallowed around the lump of anger that formed in his throat, rage on behalf of what had been done to her as he pulled back slightly, placed an index finger beneath her chin and forcibly tilted her face upwards.

The haunted look in her tear-filled eyes enraged him. "Usako," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "This isn't real. _None of this is real. _Makoto is alive and strapped to a gurney in a lab like the rest of this. You didn't do any of those things you remember."

He'd hoped that the vehemence in his voice was enough to convince her of the truth, but by the way that her lips quivered as the tears fell, sluicing listlessly down her smooth, pallid cheeks, he'd been unsuccessful.

She clenched her eyes shut, her face contorting into a look of agony, with a disbelieving shake of her head. "I know, it's just-" she stopped for a moment, visibly swallowing before continuing. "I'm angry, because, every time I wake up in that stupid lab, I promise myself that this time when they put me under, I'll be strong enough to fight through it. Remember _with _you. So that you don't have to do this alone, Mamo-chan."

He inhaled sharply when her words registered. _Every time she woke up in the lab? _"Usako," her name spilled from his lips with panicked ferocity. Because, with the exception of that one time, he'd never woken up in the lab again. "You're waking up in the lab? You remember the nightmares?"

Her brows drew together into a frown, her eyes searching his, even as the tears continued to slide down her face silently. "Yes," she breathed in a muted whisper of anguish. "I've begged them until my throat aches, Mamo-chan. They never listen."

His heart skipped a beat; his breath stuck in his throat as his mind began to race with what this could possibly mean for them. _Usagi had access to the enemy_. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. So many ways that they could potentially work together to _beat _this thing.

Unfortunately, everything around him stopped. The sound sucked out of the world to be replaced with the low buzz that meant that this nightmare was ending.

He wanted to tell her so many things. Tell her to look for clues. Search for ways to _end _this. But, they were out of time, and he was not going to let her get ripped away on this last, broken note of despair.

With a guttural growl of desperation, he lowered his head and crushed his lips onto hers, her tears salty on his tongue as she reciprocated on a broken whimper of distress. It was a short, chaste kiss, but it was filled with passion, love, and his unspoken promise to get them out of here.

When he pulled away, he cupped her face in his hands, his eyes fixed with determination onto hers. "Usako, it doesn't matter what happens next. You're the strongest warrior I have ever known, and no matter what they make you do, I will always be here fighting to remind you of that."

Her eyes widened, lips parted on a sharp inhale of shocked breath, and he was certain that his words had made an impact by the confidence that flashed sharply in the depths of her eyes. He didn't get a chance to find out for sure, though, because in the next instant everything went black and he was pulled back into the void of unconsciousness.


End file.
